


Whom the Gods Would Destroy

by ianthewaiting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 133,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianthewaiting/pseuds/ianthewaiting
Summary: The end of the world has come. Millions dead, magic waning, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley are the last people left in Britain—left to pick up the pieces of their once great civilization. Why were they spared? Who is responsible for the death of a nation? These are the mysteries left as a legacy for two lost and lonely people.





	1. 1

**1**

They did not know what was truly happening until it was blasting through the wards, bursting through doors, and death was upon them. The secret sanctuary of Glastonbury Abbey, hidden from Muggle eyes for centuries, was breached. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was only second in its security and secrecy to the Abbey and its ancient Scriptorium.

The Abbey was in the care of the Sisters of Ine, Ine being the King of Wessex who directed the building of the original Abbey in the Eighth Century. Through the centuries, magical folk protected the location, as it, and Glastonbury Tor were the markers to the gateway to the legendary Avalon. The Sisters of Ine were the last link to the ancient secret. But it was the Abbey, in the Twenty-First Century, which was more of a sanctuary, a higher academy of learning for those pursuing knowledge beyond that taught at Hogwarts. The secret of Avalon had been lost, along with the ancient magicks predating the Abbey and Sisterhood.

The Sisters of Ine were fierce witches, wise, ancient, and powerful. However, when the wards were breached and the hallowed halls of the Abbey bathed in blood, there had been no warning. No prognosticator with the inner Seeing Eye could have anticipated the darkness that was falling over Britain.

* * *

By the time Glastonbury Abbey fell, Britain was lost.

Gellert Grindelwald was a brilliant man—cruel, but brilliant. Taking a page from the Nazis in the late 1930s and early 1940s with the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp, Gellert Grindelwald began experimenting with curses resulting in death. Nurmengard Prison was overcrowded; Grindelwald's opponents were great in number and were growing steadily larger into the 1940s. Ever experimenting with Dark Magic, Grindelwald created the Holokauston Curse. In 1941, the population of the black tower of Nurmengard was cut by fifty percent due to the Curse. By 1945, just before Grindelwald's defeat by Albus Dumbledore, over three million Muggles, witches, wizards, and Squibs had died in Nurmengard Prison under Gellert Grindelwald's Deathstick, later known to Harry Potter as the Elder Wand.

For decades, the Holokauston Curse was taboo, more so than the Killing Curse. While the Killing Curse focused upon one victim, the Holokauston killed multitudes in one casting. No book would record the evilest Curse known to magical kind. No wizard would teach the Curse, and no curious soul would experiment with the mechanics of the Curse. And so, it was for over fifty years until those who remembered the Curse grew old or died. Those who survived those dark times hoped that the Curse would simply be lost, a tale to be told in warning to children and grandchildren.

This was not the case, however, as Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley would come to know for themselves.

* * *

April in Basingstoke was not so bad, or so Hermione Granger thought sitting on the steps leading away from the Basingstoke Railway Station in the noonday sun. Until that morning, she had never been to Basingstoke before. There had never been a reason to ever go to Basingstoke, and as she leaned back into the steps, soaking the warm sun on her face, she realized that there was no reason to stay.

She had followed the M3 from Southampton on her motor scooter, and the scooter had finally stopped in Basingstoke. Hermione had no clue how to repair a motor scooter. Unless she found another form of suitable Muggle transportation, or a broom, she would have to walk again.

Two months before, thirty-year-old Hermione Granger would never have considered riding a scooter in Britain. However, necessity had shown Hermione that she would have to reconsider what she had believed to be proper or normal for a witch. Two months and three days before, the world had ended, and she, as far as she knew at that point, was perhaps, the only person left alive in all of England, Scotland, and possibly Ireland.

Hermione no longer cried, grieved, or feared for herself. The facts were: she was alive, she still could use most of her magic, and she was too stubborn to let herself die without knowing why everything she knew had turned to shit.

Sitting up straight, Hermione moved to grasp her backpack from between her feet, drawing out a bottle of water and unscrewing the cap to drink. The water was not as cold as she would have liked, but since there was no such thing as electricity, she would not find a cold bottle of anything anywhere. Short of casting a freezing Charm on the plastic bottle, Hermione would have to settle with tepid water.

Setting the bottle on the step next to her, she pulled off her military issue boots, magically resized, and peeled off her sweaty socks. Wrinkling her nose in distaste at the damp cotton, she balled them up and threw them into her backpack, withdrawing a fresh pair.

All the while, Hermione listened. There was nothing but birds and the wind.

The silence of her homeland was disturbing. No motors running, no people buzzing with life, no movement except the clouds and wind. After two months, she still could not get used to the quiet.

At night, and sometimes, but rarely, during the day, the screams filled the air—a violent contrast to the silence. Hermione missed the ambient hum of life, but as her eyes moved along the street, she almost wished a car would buzz by, a cyclist, maybe a family walking. There was nothing.

Reapplying her boots, Hermione knew she had to move. There was no time to find transport out of Basingstoke that April day. Possibly, in the morning when the sun was up, she could leave. She had to find high ground, a rooftop preferably, or a high flat with some food and no dead things.

Zipping up her backpack, she shouldered it as she stood, reaching down to grasp the shoulder strap of the L96A1-AWS sniper rifle, a souvenir from an abandoned blockade near Bristol. It was a little heavy on her shoulder, but Hermione ignored it. Her pack was also heavy with clothes, food, and ammo even though she had shrunk it. Everything she needed to survive was strapped to her body, her pack, her rifle, and most importantly, her wand in a holster strapped to the belt about her baggy military issue camouflaged trousers.

She began walking toward the tallest building she could see. Hermione hoped that the chrome yellow building was empty, but she kept her hand on the handle of her wand as she walked. It had become habit, but it had kept her alive more than once since the beginning of her journey.

* * *

Atop a place she learned was called Crown Heights, Hermione Granger watched the sun set. She had her resized sleeping bag unrolled under her, her rifle set up before her, resting on the edge of the roof, peering down on the commons before the railway station. Through her scope, she could see the empty water bottle she had left behind, and the discarded motor scooter resting on the curb of the street.

She waited for the sounds, and she did not have to wait long.

The only way for Hermione to describe the sound was by comparing it to a combination of an owl's screech, a baby's shriek, and the high-pitched cry of a cat. It was terrible, and it was hard to believe that something once human could produce the noise. She often wondered if a banshee's cry were similar.

When the first figure stalked into the sight of her scope, Hermione grinned, and silently moved her lips to count. Five, twelve, twenty, thirty-one… All she could see were thirty-one, it was plenty, and there were surely many more nearby. Hermione watched as they ignored her scooter and water bottle, but congregated in the street, their faces pointed to the sky, blind eyes seeing nothing, not even the rising moon.

The only way she would be found was if she were near them, or made noise near them.

Inferi were in no way like animals that could sniff out prey, but their sense of hearing, oddly, was keen.

Hermione slipped her finger around the trigger of her rifle, but did not squeeze. She only used the rifle if she were in a tight spot, and as it was, she was safe for the night having blocked all access to the roof. The AWS was nearly silent, and with the added Charms, it would never make a sound when shot. The only sound would be the bullet whizzing through the air to splatter a head of one of the monsters on the street below.

Hermione set the rifle down beside her sleeping bag with a sigh. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the unusually bright stars appearing in the sky. For one more night, she could sleep safely with the incoherent cries of the Inferi haunting her dreams.

* * *

The smell of ozone and blood woke her, but it was Aurora Sinistra's insistent voice that indicated to Hermione she was not dreaming.

"Get up, Hermione! Grab what you can, you must go!"

The Abbey cell was dark except for one high window in a featureless wall.

Hermione did not question her old Astronomy professor, and did not bother doffing her nightgown as she slipped into a pair of old jogging pants and tee shirt. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of old trainers and grabbed her knapsack from under the Spartan bed.

Aurora Sinistra was dressed in the black robes of the Sisterhood, her long ebon hair free from the intricate bindings that usually held it up from the column of her white throat. Aurora Sinistra stood near the door of the cell, peeking though a crack at what Hermione could see were flashes of curse fire.

"We cannot Apparate or Portkey. The Ministry must have enacted the Seal! You must run, Hermione, keep running and do not come back, do you understand me?"

Hermione did not, but nodded anyway, still believing she was half dreaming.

"If they have breached the wards here, no place is safe!"

Hermione frowned, not understanding.

Aurora moved to grasp Hermione by the shoulders.

"Do not make a sound, do not cast a spell until you are free of this place. Try to get to Hogwarts, that is the only other place that might be intact!"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing as Aurora Sinistra pressed kisses into Hermione's cheeks before taking her hand and pulling her through the door into what Hermione believed was hell.

The Sisters were fighting with their wands in one hand, and swords in the other. What they were fighting in the corridors and courtyards of the hidden Abbey were people. However, as Aurora pulled Hermione between the fighting, Hermione could see that the Sisters were not just fighting people, for they were not people…

"Intruders are coming in through the gate to the north!" a voice shouted over the din of screeches and unnatural howls. The voice belonged to a shimmering lion Patronus, but the corporeal form disappeared as the voice attached screamed.

Hermione's teeth were chattering as Aurora pulled her down a dark corridor, nearly dragging her down the uneven steps into one of the cellars. The sound of the fight above was distant, but as Aurora moved toward a barrel of wine, releasing Hermione's hand, Hermione edged back to the bottom of the stairs. Above, a bright flash of light caused her to clench her teeth as a wave of odour hit her—burning flesh. Fire had erupted from somewhere in the Abbey compound, and Hermione could hear the shrieks of what ever was attacking and the Sisterhood alike.

Fiendfyre.

"Hermione! Here!"

Hermione turned to find that Aurora had moved a barrel to reveal a low, dark passage.

"It will take you to the Tor. From there you must run."

Aurora was breathless, her wide emerald eyes adamant that Hermione snap out of her daze and obey. Hermione moved to her old mentor, ready to help Aurora pull the barrel behind them both. However, as Hermione's hand slipped from Aurora's as she entered the passage, the barrel began to move back in place, and the wall's stone magically began to mend.

"No! Aurora, no! Come with me!" Hermione called back.

"No, my darling, you must go, I cannot leave this place. I cannot leave my Sisters to fight alone. Go to Hogwarts!"

The wall was nearly closed as Aurora bent closer to smile at Hermione, tears streaming down her face.

"Aurora? Aurora!" Hermione screamed.

When the darkness engulfed Hermione, she was sitting on the damp floor of a low passage, finally awake.

She did not know how long she sat in the dark, but through the thick wall of stone, she could hear the muffled shrieks of death and the roar of fire. Hermione pinched herself before lighting her wand; she hoped she was still asleep in the tiny cell of the Abbey. But she was not, and she knew she had to begin crawling.

Hours passed before she saw the sky again, crawling up through what seemed to be an ancient well, Hermione dislodged a stone to step out of St. Michael's Tower, and up into the fresh outdoor air. She was sweaty, dirty, and dazed. From Glastonbury Tor she could see the village was aflame. She could see a few people running only to be cut down by the dark blots of other figures. From the Tor, Hermione could feel magic surrounding her, and as she watched Glastonbury burn, none of the attackers came near.

The sun rose, and the distant dark figures departed, some seeming to fall completely dead in the sunlight, others hiding in the shadows or running stupidly into the fire to be burnt to ash. Hermione watched as nothing but the fires moved as nothing was left alive.

It was incomprehensible, and Hermione collapsed on the stones surrounding the base of St. Michael's Tower, her wand held so tight in her hand that her knuckles hurt, everything she owned stuffed into a knapsack over her left shoulder. It was not until the sun was nearly at its highest point in the sky did she move.

It was February 21, 2010.

* * *

It was not until February 23, 2010 that Hermione realized that what had attacked the Abbey and the village of Glastonbury were thousands of Inferi.

* * *

There was a military blockade on the M4 east of Bristol, and ten days after Glastonbury, that was where Hermione found the rifle. It was atop a camouflaged vehicle just off the M4, metal crates of ammo unused, the rifle not loaded. Bodies were scattered on the road, civilian and military, cars and trucks blocking what would have been a normal traffic pattern. Hermione stood atop a family sedan, her hand shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun in March.

There was no one alive.

Hermione knew she was in shock, and that her clothing she had escaped Glastonbury in were not sufficient to shield her from the cold. At the hastily constructed blockade, in boxes and bundles, she found boots, military issue uniforms, and rations. There were guns, medicine, food, but Hermione only took what she thought would be necessary. She changed into a pair of lightweight combat trousers, layering shirts under a vest, topping it with a matching heavier jacket. Vaguely, she remembered the Muggle military calling the uniform as a whole a Temperate Dress DPM, referring more to the pattern on the uniform. Her dad had been in the military as a young man, and it was as she was zipping up the jacket that she wondered if her parents were safe in Melbourne.

She took a better heavy canvas knapsack from one of the dead soldiers and began taking and shrinking what she needed. By noon, she stared at the bodies, ignoring the stench of soldier and civilian. Most had been beaten, bitten, or eviscerated. However, some were unmarked—most of the dead were unmarked. But none of these dead moved.

Sitting atop the hidden military vehicle, testing the weight of the rifle in her hands, she wondered how 'it' had started. Obviously, there had been a panic, the direction of the people meant that they were fleeing Bristol on the M4 east, but to where?

Hermione shouldered the rifle, having taken the crates of ammo, and shrinking them to put them in her backpack. She began walking between the lanes of cars, stepping over bodies beginning to decay even in the cool weather. She walked further and further from Bristol until the sun began to set again. In a little village off the M4 called Tormarton, she found an inn, a place that made the hair on the back of her neck stand when she entered the building.

The Four Lamps inn barely qualified as an inn as the bottom part was a pub, but what made Hermione feel at ease was the lack of dead inside. Locking the door, warding and sealing the windows with her Vinewood wand, she moved about the pub by wand light until she found a newspaper, a Bristol newspaper, the Western Daily Press, dated from the second week of February.

The headline was shocking by Muggle standards. 'Panic!' was the head caption and below: 'Mass murders and attacks spreading from Cornwall across the southwest into Bristol!' Hermione continued to read the front page by wand light.

Attacks had been reported in the far north, in Aberdeen. The nature of the attacks was unknown, but it was spreading from every corner of Britain. People died from mysterious causes in great numbers in particular areas. The military had had little effect on combating what the newspaper called a 'mob of monsters.' The panic of the people had impeded any sort of movement toward safety. No one knew if biological weapons were being used to kill whole villages. No one knew who or what the monsters were, and any that were attacked usually died.

Hermione frowned as some called the monsters 'zombies.' She knew better. What she could not know was what was killing Muggles in droves with no discernable cause.

She knew she had been at a disadvantage. If only she had not been at the Abbey, she would have known what was happening at the Ministry. Aurora had been correct, Hermione could not Apparate no matter how hard she tried, and she could not create a Portkey. Aurora had also mentioned the Seal.

The Seal, a concept that frightened Hermione more than hordes of Inferi killing everything in sight. The Seal had been an emergency measure put in place to keep Magical folk from leaving Britain. It was done just before Voldemort fell, a measure designed and created in part by Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt during their Order years. It had been Kingsley, as Minister, who enacted the law.

If any Dark Lord were to rise again, he or she would be constrained to Britain, and dealt with on the island of Albion. However, the Seal could be used to contain magical disaster, hypothetically, and it seemed that when the Inferi attacks began to escalate, someone in the Ministry had Sealed the island.

By sealing Britain, however, no one could escape. No airplanes, no boats, no traditional means of Muggle transit out of Britain would work. It was if a large soap bubble encapsulated the isle. How long it would last depended solely on someone disengaging the Seal in source deep in the Ministry, its location hidden except a small group of trusted people, who Hermione assumed, were now dead.

The effects of the Seal had been hypothetical at best, and Hermione wondered if the Ministry knew that they were condemning millions of Muggles to die like rats in a trap.

The Seal was a large ward, stronger than anything ever constructed by mere spell work, and from the outside, it worked as a large 'do not notice,' Charm. Therefore, in Hermione's darkened mind, Britain no longer existed to the world as a whole.

The thought was disconcerting.

There would be no outside assistance until someone disengaged the Seal, and Hermione knew that the Inferi were not just beasts of a sort preying on magical folk.

As she folded up the paper and threw it on the bar, she sighed, her eyes taking in the darkness of the pub. Finding the steps leading up into what must be the rooms for rent above, she kicked in the door closest to the stairs, finding the room empty.

Warding the door and windows for silence, she found candles in a wardrobe, and lit them to reveal a modest room with a comfortable full sized bed, and clean bedding. The lavatory was at the end of the hall, furthest from the stairs, and there she found that the water works was functional, but there was no hot water. Hermione bathed in cold water, not minding how icy the spray from the shower was, but happy that she could rinse away the smell of body odour, death, and dust.

When she was clean, and dressed in a magically cleaned outfit, Hermione found the first bed she had slept upon in days quite comfortable. Wand clenched in her hand, boots on her feet, backpack and rifle in easy reach, she lay on her back in the middle of the bed. Staring up at the dark ceiling, she could only hear far, distant cries of walking death, but there were none close, none aware that a living person was nearby.

Hermione wondered, as she began to let herself sleep, if there were people out in other villages and cities, huddled in boarded up rooms or flats, waiting for rescue that would never come.

It was like a bad movie, all of it. She had seen enough movies in the past ten years, doomsday scenarios with zombies or monsters, and the hopelessness of survivors at the end of their world. Bad movie…

Inferi, from what she had learned through her years at Hogwarts, were the 'reanimated' dead. Not zombies, but puppets of Dark Wizards to do the Wizard's will. It seemed to Hermione, the will driving the Inferi was to kill anything or anyone alive. The motive as to why Muggles should be killed was unknown, and to Hermione, using Inferi and magic to kill made little sense.

She knew that the dead she had seen between Glastonbury to Tormarton would possibly be reanimated as well if the body were intact. Inferi could be used if every bit of their innards had been ripped out, a limb missing, but one thing that Inferi could not function without was a brain. Though dead, the brain was the seat of magic. Even if the Inferi had been Muggle in life, the brain would react to the magical imperative placed upon it. Thus, destroying the head could disable Inferi.

Hermione glanced to her rifle next to her on the bed, shaking off sleep again.

Fire and bright light repelled Inferi, and nothing else. Blasting Curses, Cutting Curses—that was all that could incapacitate them.

They preferred the dark, and could move as easily as if alive, but still they were controlled things, all tied to a master whose will was carried out by legions of undead.

The question was, where and who was the puppet master? It had to be a wizard somewhere in Britain.

The bigger question was: why?

As far as Hermione knew, the lull after the Fall of Voldemort had developed into peace. For twelve years, Wizarding Britain had not seen any indication that another war was on the horizon. Death Eaters were tried, imprisoned, or given the Kiss. The darkness that was Voldemort was gone and a new sun shone upon Britain due in part to Harry Potter and his work with the Wizengamot.

Hermione rubbed her chin as she lay on her back. She had not thought about Harry in years. She wondered if he were still alive.

The last time she had seen Harry was at a ceremony, bestowing the Order of Merlin on the fallen heroes of the War. Harry had silently accepted his commendation, as had Ron and many of the surviving members of the Order and the DA. Even with the posthumous honors, the ceremony had been silent upon the grounds of Hogwarts.

Hermione refused her commendation, but sat in the audience. She had never felt like a 'hero,' and she would not accept an honor that she did not believe she deserved. The War had changed her, as it had changed everyone, but Hermione knew that with the end of the War, it would be the end of the 'Golden Trio.' Ron had left her, Harry had moved on with Ginny. Even those close like Luna had left Britain for work, Neville married Hannah Abbott, and George married Angelina Johnson. Life moved on, and Hermione took a new direction in her life without the attachments of the past.

Hermione was, or had been before the end of the world, a writer, and a scholar. She had written under a nome de plume for the Daily Prophet in their equivalent of a 'Technology' section. She used yet another name to write papers in Ars Alchemica, the scholastic potions journal. Hermione used the alias Jean de Grange to write her favourite work in revisions to Hogwarts, a History, a children's book with a commentary about the useless bias of blood status which was apparently 'controversial,' but sold well. And her last work—the history of the Sisters of Ine set into a work of fiction to protect the identity of those in the Sisterhood.

Of course, as she lay with her eyes closed in the bed above the pub, Jean de Grange, Minnie Mustil, and Herold Felix, were dead, along with everyone else in Britain. Hermione was no longer a writer or scholar, she was simply a survivor—the last woman in Britain.

Hermione slept fitfully, the sounds of shrieks blending memories into her dreams. Hermione dreamt of the War.

* * *

Aurora Sinistra had told Hermione to try for Hogwarts, but without a broom, Portkey, or the ability to Apparate, reaching Hogwarts would take time.

April 6, 2010, Hermione was riding another procured motor scooter south. She could have easily gone to London, but after waking atop Crown Heights, Hermione listened to the wind. There had been a sound that had awakened her. She had been hugging her rifle, dreaming a happier dream of a seaside vacation from her childhood. It had been a strain of music, just for a moment, a foreign sound that made her grasp her rifle and sit up in her sleeping bag.

Hermione listened as she began packing her bag, shrinking her sleeping bag again. On the wind, just as she sat down to eat a half melted chocolate energy bar, the sound came again. She stopped chewing and stood on the edge of Crown Heights, her hands cupped behind her ears.

It had come from the southeast, and that was where a new, unexplainable compulsion needed her to go, and so she went, with has much haste as she could muster. After several days of walking, she found a working Vespa scooter in Guildford. By April 6, Hermione was on the A23, and she knew where she needed to go.

Brighton.

The traffic heading north had clogged the motorway, and Hermione saw that there were still a great many corpses scattered about, some still sitting in their cars. The southbound lane was almost empty and Hermione did not have a hard time navigating through the stopped traffic. The ease of the drive gave her time to think.

Since the beginning, Hermione had seen many corpses with no discernable cause of death. Some bodies were unmarked, posed as if they had somehow died in their sleep. There was no violent contortion of limbs or faces, no signs of struggle, and no fear in their deaths. Of course, there were others who were mauled and torn, obviously by Inferi. It had puzzled her.

Perhaps it had been like the films, a widespread virus, and a biological weapon that killed everything. It was possible, but improbable given those legions of Inferi that roamed the countryside. Magic was in play, and magic was what killed the people in their cars, sitting in front of their television sets, but magic had spared Hermione, for some reason. The question of how magic could kill millions was one that troubled Hermione as she swerved to miss an open car door with body lying half in, half out.

There had been warning, Hermione remembered from reading the paper in Tormarton. People had tried to flee in their automobiles. Death had chased them from every direction and Hermione could imagine that at some point there was a massive pileup of cars and people having collided trying to flee.

As the midday sun beat down on the top of her borrowed helmet, Hermione wondered why there were not more automobiles on the A23 going south. She knew that there was a ferry at Bishopstone to France; surely, the Muggles had tried to leave Britain by sea.

Hermione squeezed on the brakes and slowed the scooter near the exit to Preston. Planting her feet on the ground, Hermione slapped a gloved hand over her mouth. With a great lurch, Hermione vomited onto the motorway.

Muggles, she was thinking of the people of Britain as Muggles.

Coughing up the last of the stale bread she had eaten that morning, Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was trying so desperately to distance herself from feeling that she had begun thinking of herself as someone outside the situation.

She was a Muggle-born witch; her parents were Muggles—just like the bodies rotting in their family sedans with their children in the back seat, their possessions tied to the roofs of the family car. Hermione let a sob pass her lips, barely sounding over the rumble of the scooter's motor. One sob, that was all she would give herself.

Soon, Hermione was driving again, clenching her teeth. She would be in Brighton in the hour, giving her time to find a safe place for the night. Perhaps then, she thought, she would know why she felt so compelled to enter what was once a place populated with the living—now the dead.

* * *

St. Peter's Church was cool inside, and as Hermione stared at the Queen Victoria commemorative window, she was thankful that there were no dead eyes blindly staring at the glass with her. The theory that in times of great fear that people crowded into churches seemed to be fiction. St. Peter's Church was empty.

It seemed a shame to Hermione. To die in such a place of beauty and sanctity would have soothed her if she knew that the end was nigh.

She moved toward the chancel and sat down in the first pew. For early April, the air outside was hot and sticky. The sea air seemed suffocating to her along with the stench of death that told her she was in a bigger town. If she remembered correctly, Brighton had about 480,000 people. All were dead, in some form or another, and that did not count the thousands of tourists who had come off-season to the seaside.

Hermione leaned into the pew, stretching her arms out along the back. The painting of a crucified Christ stared down at her, silently studying her. Hermione stared back.

Perhaps she was a forsaken woman, left behind after missing the greatest battle, Armageddon. Perhaps this was Tribulation.

Hermione had never been religious, but she had been respectful of religion. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist, staring hard at the passively crucified Christ. He did not seem to be suffering for her sins on the chancel wall of St. Peter's Church, instead he seemed to be telling her something with his deadened eyes and stern face.

Hermione's lips trembled and she nodded to the flat representation of one religion's messiah. She had been left behind for a reason, and she would have to fight to save herself and what was left of her world.

"Alright," she whispered to the icon, and rose to her feet.


	2. 2

**2**

Hermione was convinced that she had lost her mind not long after leaving Glastonbury. With the world falling down around you, it was easy to go mad. However, she knew she was certifiably insane walking down Kings Road with the sea to her right. The day was dark and rain could fall at any moment, but Hermione did not care. Something had called her to Brighton, and she was going to find what that something was.

She shrugged her rifle higher onto her left shoulder and kept her right hand on her wand handle. So far, the only living thing she had seen or heard were the gulls on the shore below the road. There was a startling lack of bodies, but there were signs of Inferi in the destruction and rotten limbs upon the road.

The night before, she had heard them from her perch in the bell tower of St. Peter's Church, but did not see them. Perhaps the only thing that surprised Hermione as she had looked out from the bell tower was the glow of fire somewhere beyond the church. Fire meant one thing—life.

Maybe the life was what called her, she did not know. However, as she had walked the city from morning to midday, only the gulls cawed to her. No stray animals, no signs of digging in, there were nothing to show her that someone had been alive to start a fire. There were never any stray animals in the towns she had stopped in, and there were no animal corpses. She figured that the animals—cats, dogs, and wildlife—had taken refuge somewhere, fled like the humans to a place removed from even her eyes.

Hermione moved to an empty beach and sat down, staring out at the empty sea. She had not seen boats, and knew that even if someone were to flee to the sea, the Seal would keep them from going far. Inferi could navigate the waters, no matter how rough, and capsize a boat if it meant killing another life.

Shoving the short stock of her rifle in the sand so that it stood upright, Hermione dug into her backpack, resizing a plastic wrapped piece of old bread. The Stasis Charm was waning after a week, but Hermione ate what was left. She still had a few shrunken cans of tinned meat, beans, and fruit, but soon, she would have to scavenge again.

Hermione leaned back on her elbows, listening to the gulls and the soft waves upon the sand a few metres from her booted feet. The ominous clouds had dissipated. The sun was moving into afternoon over her head, and Hermione knew that she would have to leave the beach soon. The bell tower had served her well, and she knew that it would take a while to walk back.

On the King's Road again, Hermione turned north onto West Street. As she approached Church Street, Hermione paused. Down that particular street was the Brighton Museum & Art Gallery, Dome Theatre, and Hermione turned, walking down the middle of the street. There were several abandoned cars pointed in the opposite direction, and there was rubble from the buildings on either side. As Hermione walked, she did not think too much of the rubble at first. Then, pausing again on the street between Dome Theatre and the Museum, she glanced at the buildings again.

Curse marks burned the façade of the Dome Theatre, and to the east, to Victoria Gardens, Hermione could see burnt trees and clods of soil blasted from the ground.

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Ozone, a familiar scent, permeated the air like a subtle perfume. There were traces of magic in the air, unmistakable and succinct to Hermione when she concentrated. Someone magical was near, the freshness of the scent of magic perhaps only a day old.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a thrill pass through her body. With her eyes still closed, Hermione listened. Distantly was the sea and the gulls, then there was a wind that moaned between the building blocks, then there was a scratching noise—Inferi, and under everything, a strain of music too faint to fully grasp.

Hermione knew she was mad, she was a witch, but she did not have the power to hear so keenly, however, the strain of music felt real, true. The strain of music was the sound of a life straining to keep alive—just like her.

When Hermione opened her eyes, it was with a shock. During her mental travels, the sun had moved west. Dread gripped her, pushing out all her hope. The sun was beginning to set and she was far enough away from St. Peter's Church and sanctuary that she would not make it before true darkness fell.

"Shit."

She would have to run up either Marlborough Place or Grand Parade to St. Peter's Place. Hermione ran to the end of Church Street, but already the shadow between the Museum and the Theatre was becoming too dark. Hermione cursed in streams under her breath as she started up Marlborough Place along Victoria Gardens. It was in the Gardens that she saw the first of the Inferi under a few burnt trees nearest to the southern end of the park.

Hermione drew her wand, but kept running, her boots barely making a noise on the street. What did make a noise was the rubble she kept kicking as she ran, and it was that sound that the Inferi heard.

"Shit, shit!" she gasped.

A shriek arose from the park, as if the green itself were wailing. Hermione kept running, finally making it past Victoria Gardens to the intersection of North Road, but it made no difference. The Inferi would follow her all the way to St. Peter's Church, just visible beyond another island of green between the roads. There was little rubble in the street as she headed north, and she knew she would not have noticed before, having left the church and headed west along Gloucester Street.

Hermione considered heading east toward Queen's Park, and as she ran east, she knew the Inferi were loping after her. Hermione did not look back, she could not afford to look back, however, as she started down Kingswood Street, she found her way barred. Burnt cars acted as a barricade, and Hermione had no choice but to cut south down William Street. Again, the street was barricaded at the far end, and Hermione realized that she was caught in a trap meant for the Inferi.

Hermione ran toward the pile of automobiles and stopped, gasping for breath. The Inferi were not far behind, just entering William Street. Hermione raised her wand and shrugged her rifle higher. She would blast as many as she could in the street, an elevated car park to her right and building her left. Grand Parade Mews was half way between the blocks, but Hermione knew it was a dead end, terminating into the backside of apartment buildings.

Hermione knew she would have to climb the barricade, but it would be difficult. The barricade had been built to trap Inferi, and although dead, they could be as agile as the living. The shrieks of the dead grew nearer and Hermione began counting heads. Fifty plus, she stopped counting after forty, heads she would have to blast.

It had been a mistake to come to Brighton, no matter that there might be a witch or wizard nearby. It had been a mistake to come into a once populated city. Hermione gritted her teeth as the Inferi approached, slowing a bit from their loping run.

This was it, Hermione thought, and readied herself to fight until the end.

"Get down!" a voice roared from high above her and Hermione nearly dropped her wand from shock.

Hermione could not see the source of the barking, male voice, but she complied. Throwing herself to the rubble strewn street, she felt a Blasting Hex fly over her, and heard the sound of rotten flesh being torn apart. She did not even gag as a heavy, dead arm landed upon the backs of her knees.

"Hurry, ve must run now!"

A large, paw-like hand grasped her arm, wrenching her upward, and suddenly, Hermione was running. Her saviour had pulled her up and over the barricade, and soon Hermione realized that she was running back toward the Royal Pavilion.

Edward Street gave way to a fence and Hermione let her body collide with it, her head buzzing illogical thoughts.

"I vill lift you, Her-my-nee…"

Hermione blinked, her eyes catching sight of part of a face under a thick cowl of a cloak. However, before she could speak, she lifted and forced to climb. Jumping over the thick wrought-iron gate, she found herself rolling upon a lawn.

"Hurry! Run to the Pavilion!"

With still too much adrenaline to burn, Hermione did not stop to question, but began running up an unkempt lawn to a structure she had only seen in pictures. She had not seen the structure earlier, for the Dome Theatre on Church Street blocked the view.

Brighton's Royal Pavilion was a white structure that caught the glowing orange rays of the setting sun on the domed roof as if the structure were aflame, but to Hermione, it looked like sanctuary. Every step she took toward the Pavilion made Hermione feel safer.

How she managed to get inside, how she suddenly felt as if no dark, dead things outside would harm her that night, she could not say. All she knew was that she was again being pulled into chambers, all looted, all destroyed, until she was set down before a fireplace and given a plate of food which consisted mostly of canned fruits and meats.

When the cloak was doffed and a face floated before hers in the firelight, all Hermione could say weakly was: "My hero, once again."

Viktor Krum had not aged well, and it seemed that life had been as hard on him as it had on Hermione. The new scars across his dark brow, intersecting the bridge of his beaklike nose, made him appear like one of the sculptures of Roman Emperors she had seen smashed in one of the chambers she had passed.

"Vhy are you here? Vhere are your friends?" he asked, his thick fingers brushing her filthy hair from her soot-covered face.

"Dead, like everyone, I suppose. Why are you here?"

Viktor's face darkened as he sat down next to her before the fire. "My vife and I vere here on holiday. She died veeks ago."

Hermione wanted to seem sympathetic, but she had lost so many that her sympathy was all used before ever reaching Brighton.

"I tried Portkeys, I tried Apparation, nothing vorks," Viktor grumbled rising to his feet before the fire, stoking it and leaning against the carved side. In the growing light, Hermione realized she was sitting before the fireplace in the Music Room of the Pavilion. She sat upon the ornate carpet, gazing up at the great mirror over the mantle. It was almost like the pictures she had seen, but not quite.

"I know. I've been travelling by scooter or on foot. You wouldn't happen to have a broom?"

Viktor shook his head. Hermione said no more as she studied Viktor in the firelight. Viktor was just as substantial as she remembered, and once again, he had saved her life.

"Haff you heard  _any_ news?"

It was Hermione's turn to shake her head. She chewed a piece of canned fruit slowly before swallowing.

"The Ministry has set the Seal, and that is all I know."

Viktor swore under his breath, a fist slamming into stone. "I did not think they vould do it," he muttered. Hermione agreed. It had been the final measure of defence, and Hermione knew that it had damned them all.

"You are the first person I have seen alive," Hermione began.

Viktor moved to Hermione's side, kneeling next to her and catching her face between his large hands.

"Thank the gods, you are alive, Her-my-nee. If I vould haff to save someone, I am glad it vas you."

Hermione smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. The warmth of his hands upon her cheeks felt more like a dream than reality. Perhaps she was dreaming, Hermione could not be sure. It seemed like only seconds before she had been running for her life.

Viktor sighed and slowly released Hermione's face. Almost as if to break the perfection of a dream, a distant shriek slipped in through the walls of the Royal Pavilion and into their ears.

"They vill not come to this place. I do not know vhy exactly," Viktor answered even as Hermione opened her mouth to ask if they should run or hide. "It is safe here, ve can sleep."

Hermione stared at Viktor's face, which softened with weariness. He sat next to her, watching her eat, his dark eyes following her every movement. When his eyes moved to the rifle setting at her side, he asked her about it.

Hermione told her story, the attack on the Abbey, her escape, and what she had seen between Glastonbury and Brighton.

"Aurora wanted me to go to Hogwarts, but without a broom, it would take ages," Hermione explained softly, finally having her fill of canned fruit.

Viktor's dark brow rose and Hermione felt as if she sounded like a madwoman.

"Hogvarts vould be a safe place," Viktor said, more to himself than to Hermione. "It vould be a good place to regroup if there vere survivors."

"It is a stretch. If Glastonbury Abbey were breached, surely Hogwarts would be in ruins."

Viktor shrugged, "Perhaps not."

Hermione blinked, turning her face slowly to Viktor. Viktor smiled sadly and continued. "You said the Abbey was destroyed, but vot of other places? There are other magical places in Britain."

Hermione nodded, and slowly her eyes narrowed. Why had Glastonbury Abbey, a place of concentrated magical power, been destroyed, and a place like the Royal Pavilion seem to repel the Inferi? Hermione's eyes moved about the room and slowly she closed them.

Listening again, Hermione moved through the sound of the crackling fire, Viktor's deep breathing and hard pounding heart, past the distant shriek of the Inferi, downward. Water ran deep below them, perhaps the River Steine, and deeper was the hum of rock, sea, and magic.

Again, Hermione heard a strain of music, fainter than before, as if too distant or too old. Hermione bit her bottom lip. Surely, she was losing what bit of sanity she had left.

"Vot is it?" Viktor asked, rousing Hermione.

Hermione's eyes focused upon Viktor's dark countenance. "I…" she began, but trailed, her amber eyes moving to the raging fire before them. "I think I might be losing my mind, Viktor."

Viktor's thick hand caught her chin and turned her face to his. "You von't, Her-my-nee. You aren't."

Hermione said nothing. In Viktor's dark eyes, she saw sadness, loss.

"How did your wife die?" she asked in almost a whisper.

Viktor's fingers traced her face, moving down to her lips. "The Inferi caught her, scavenging a market. It vas in the day, in the middle of the day."

His eyes shimmered and he looked away, down at the carpet. Hermione gasped when his arms wrapped about her, pulling her tight against his wide chest.

"Viktor…" she breathed.

It had been an age since someone held her. The warmth of live flesh and the sensation of a beating heart made Hermione sigh. In the firelight, he kissed her lips, not caring that she was dirty and reeked of filth and death.

Hermione hesitated to touch him in return as the kiss ended. To touch another living person was like breathing to Hermione. Her hands ran along his scarred face, marveling the life she saw in his dark eyes, ignoring the fact that he was not handsome. Viktor was alive, he was real, and he held her because she too was alive.

Hermione knew he only held her because of his desperation. Viktor had lost someone he loved, his wife. Hermione had not known Viktor's wife, had never seen the woman, but the dark spark in Viktor's eyes at her memory—Viktor had loved his wife.

Viktor kissed her again, desperately, wildly. Hermione hummed against his lips as he began pulling off the black knit sweater he wore. Her dirty fingers ran over the hard planes of his chest, down along a trail of dark hair to the waistband of his ragged trousers. He grunted softly when she touched him. Years and years before, he had been the one to take her maidenhead, and years and years before that, he had saved her.

Viktor helped her out of her layers of clothing, peeling and stripping away everything until the heat of the fire beat against her skin. She smelled terrible; death seemed to ooze from her very skin. It did not seem to matter to Viktor who kissed her throat and nipped at the soft skin below her ears.

The manner in which his rough hands cupped her full breasts, the way he looked up at her as she positioned herself over his cock, it made Hermione feel safe—even it was for only one night.

Viktor, uncharacteristically, whimpered when Hermione took his length. She could see the tears in his eyes, but she moved all the same. Her hero was lost in his memories of another woman, one that he loved, and one who surely had a matching silver wedding band upon her dead finger. Hermione did not cry. She had wasted enough tears.

Hermione rode Viktor, relishing the warmth of his large body, relishing the groans ripping from his throat despite his memories. He felt so large inside her body, larger than he did the first time they had coupled years before.

She gazed down at him in the firelight, his mouth agape, and his dark hair spilling on the ornate carpet of the Royal Pavilion's Music Room. Hermione ran her ragged nails down the rippling muscles of his wide chest. Viktor responded by arching his hips upward, his fingers curling about her hipbones.

Sex had meant something to her once, and she smirked to herself in the thought that it had been a while since she had had sex. The world outside had gone mad, but Hermione did not care as Viktor manipulated her scrawny, malnourished body to rest above her, his thickly veined cock impaling her faster and faster. She knew that the act, sex, was not out of love, and would not be 'love' for her for a long time.

Viktor kissed her, leaning down as he thrust. Hermione rose up, her arms moving to wrap about his neck, devouring his mouth as their hips met and parted.

The world outside had gone mad, and the sick, twisted truth of it all—what did make tears wet her eyes—was that she, perhaps being the last woman alive in Britain, could never act as an Eve. As Hermione threw her head back to wail, her climax crashing upon her, she wondered if Viktor had had any children.

Viktor grunted, thrusting harder and faster than before. Hermione held fast to him, gasping into his hair, wrapping her legs tighter about his hips. When he came, it was with a loud whine between clenched teeth. He was holding back a roar, a sound that might tempt the Inferi into the protection of the Pavilion. His sweat dripped from his hair and onto Hermione's chest. He stared down at her as if to assess damages against her. Hermione smiled and ran a hand over his square jaw.

"It's alright," she whispered, and Viktor fell upon her, enveloping her in his arms, pressing her warm skin against his.

Hermione let Viktor hold her, softly crying into her hair, which was tangled and sweaty. Viktor lost himself against her, but Hermione did not mind. He had lost far more than she. Staring up at the ornate ceiling and the colours reflected in the chandeliers with firelight, Hermione knew that perhaps she was lucky. She did not have anyone so close that she would feel such unbelievable loss as Viktor. No husband, no children, no lover, and sadly, there were no longer any close friends.

Of course, she worried for Ron and Harry, but Hermione felt as if she had lost those two men long ago. It was an old hurt, easily swallowed down when it surged upward, easily forgotten.

Viktor fell quickly asleep against her, emotions and body wrought out. Hermione brushed his shaggy black hair fondly. Viktor had saved her—again. So, Hermione listened to his deep breathing and the crackle of fire and willed herself to sleep.

* * *

"There vas a rumour."

Hermione nodded as Viktor passed her a bottle of water to pour into a cracked basin he had found in a vitrine somewhere in the Pavilion. It was some priceless Indo-Gothic basin used by King George IV, Hermione figured. She washed her face and her neck as Viktor continued.

"I heard it first in Varna before ve came here."

Hermione used a piece of cloth, perhaps part of curtain to wash her hair.

"Something about Dark Creatures gathering in Northern Spain. It meant nothing, it vas too vague, until I heard something else in Paris—something about vitches and vizards going mad and killing Muggles."

Hermione blinked, and paused as she was wiping her underarms. She was still naked, kneeling the morning light streaming in through a great window into the dining hall.

"Ve did not think much about that either, it was rumour. Then ve came to Brighton, and I started reading the Prophet."

Viktor was kneeling next to her, staring out onto the lawns surrounding the Pavilion, staring at the sun. Hermione assumed that 'we' meant Viktor and his wife, a woman who still had no name.

"I was in seclusion," Hermione began, dropping the cloth into the basin and wringing it out again to begin wiping her breasts. "I hadn't read the paper in weeks while I was at the Abbey. It wasn't until I read a Muggle newspaper that I understood the devastation.

What did the Prophet say?"

Viktor sighed and glanced at Hermione, only to quickly glance away as Hermione began wiping her bare legs. Viktor was dressed, and Hermione wondered if he regretted what they had done the night before.

"It vas vot it did not say that made us vorry. There vas no mention of the attacks, although it was videly talked about in Paris. I did not read the newspaper in Paris, so I don't know if vot the people vere saying vas true. But… To haff so many vizards and vitches vorried in Paris…" Viktor trailed.

Hermione finished by wiping her feet, between her toes, before moving to dress in clothes she had magicked clean moments before washing.

"The Prophet mentioned that a handful of vizards had attacked Muggles in Cornvall, near Falmouth. Muggles died, vizards were arrested, and that was only three days before…"

Hermione paused again, applying her last shirt. "Before what?"

Viktor's head bowed. "Before it truly began."

Viktor did not speak for a long while, and Hermione thought for a moment he was crying. However, when Viktor raised his head again, it was to meet Hermione's eyes.

"The Inferi did not kill all the Muggles, Her-my-nee. It vas vitches and vizards, people ve know. I saw them."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" Hermione whispered, horrified.

Viktor did release a sob, but quickly turned his face away, his fists clenched upon his thighs as he knelt next to her.

"I don't know how they did it, or vhy, but I saw a vizard cast an evil spell, one that vas created by Gindelvald, one that I vas taught never to speak of or seek to learn."

Hermione brows knitted and she moved closer to Viktor, drawing one of his fists into her hands. Viktor's fingers unclenched and wove about Hermione's. Through his hand, Hermione could feel Viktor tremble.

"Holokauston, that is the name of the spell, one that has a complicated incantation and terrible effects," Viktor whispered.

Holokauston, the Greek of holocaust, meaning 'to burn whole.' The word had various implications throughout history. However, a spell created by Grindelwald meant one thing to Hermione, destruction, and despair.

"No one in their right mind vould use that spell. It is beyond the evil of the Killing Curse."

Hermione stroked the back of Viktor's palm. She, who had read and studied more books than what was in the Library at Hogwarts, had never heard of such a spell.

"What does the spell do, exactly?"

Viktor stiffened, and for a moment, Hermione believed he would not tell her. Slowly, he began, his voice small coming from his large form.

"As the name implies to us now, holocaust, it is spell designed to kill large numbers. Imagine if a Quidditch pitch vere full, the field and the stands, and a vizard stood on the centre ring…then imagine that vizard casting a spell. The magic of the spell comes out like a visp of smoke, drifting on the vind like a cloud, growing bigger and bigger until the whole pitch is clouded with magic. People vould begin to fall, grow sleepy, others vould feel suffocated, but all…all vould die."

Hermione said nothing, imagining Viktor's words, imagining a cloud of shimmering magic floating over the cities and towns, over the motorways and rivers, killing everything in its path. The possible mechanics of such a Curse began to churn through Hermione's mind, and then something struck her.

"But we did not die."

Viktor nodded. "I don't understand it. Muggles died almost instantly…"

Hermione frowned. "Where did you see this?"

"On a motorway. Evaine and I vere trying to leave Brighton for London, go to the Ministry. Inferi had been seen in Vorthing, the towns were evacuating, to vhere, I do not know. It vas chaos, confusion, and I did not see or notice any other vitches or vizards. Ve vere in a car, Evaine is Muggle-born, she knew vot to do.

And then ve saw Ludo Bagman… Ludo Bagman, of all the people in the vorld, standing on a lorry ahead of us… Ve got out of the car, Muggles vere yelling, the automobiles vere shrieking, people vere panicking. Evaine and I valked toward Ludo, and then he pulled his vand."

Viktor's eyes were distant as Hermione watched his face, and his grip was tightening on her hand.

"I thought, vot is he going to do? Evaine was pulling on my arm, but I did not move. In front of all those Muggles, Ludo, stupid Ludo, pulled out his vand, but the Muggles did not notice, not at first.

He looked like he vas about to die, his eyes vere not right, and I realized, he was under the Imperius Curse."

Viktor stopped and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. Hermione was wide-eyed.

"And then he did it. He cast the vrost Curse known to our kind. Evaine vas screaming, the Muggles vere screaming when they saw the cloud.

It was a black cloud, like black smoke out of the back of the lorry, but it grew larger, higher. Ve ran, but the cloud moved on the vind and I could not see Evaine before my face. Ve fell to the ground, and I could smell death all around me.

Vhen the sun vas shining upon us again, ve vere alive, but everything around us, the Muggles vere dead."

Viktor released Hermione's hand and stumbled to his feet. Hermione watched as he took several steps away, the sound of his gagging filling her ears. Hermione bowed her head as she heard Viktor vomit onto the floor. She waited, hearing his gasps, and his muttered curses in Bulgarian. With the sound of a Cleaning Charm, Viktor turned to Hermione again.

"Ve vent back to look for Ludo, but he vas gone," Viktor continued, his voice rougher.

Hermione nodded. "The Inferi?"

"They came that night. Evaine and I hid in a house off the motorway and vaited. A veek later, ve came here. The Inferi vould not cross the fences, and ve did not know vhy. There vere other places the Inferi would not go, but this place vas better protected…a larger area."

Hermione glanced down into the dirty water in the basin, the sunlight reflecting off the surface. She wondered if places of natural magic kept the Inferi away, but then she remembered the Abbey.

"Her name was Evaine?"

Viktor nodded, and turned his eyes to the lawn outside the window. Hermione followed his gaze, seeing there was a mound of freshly disturbed grass and soil. Evaine Krum was buried just outside. Hermione stilled her beating heart, pushing sentiment aside.

Ludo Bagman, the once famed Beater of the Wimbourne Wasps, had been under the Imperius. Hermione did not doubt Viktor's words. Viktor knew very well what the Imperius was like after the Tri-Wizard Tournament so many years before. However, the most important question—who was controlling Bagman? How many times had he cast the Holokauston Curse? Where was Bagman now? More importantly, how did Viktor and his wife survive such a lethal Curse?

The last question made Hermione speak again.

"This Curse, Grindelwald designed specifically for Muggles?"

Viktor shook his head, his shaggy hair falling about his shoulders. "It kills everything. Muggles and vizards, that is vot ve could not understand. I vas taught that nothing vas immune from the Holokauston. Evaine thought perhaps I vas taught wrong. Perhaps I vas."

"And whoever was controlling Ludo knew this Curse…" Hermione whispered to herself.

Viktor moved to sit next to Hermione again, taking her hands into his. Hermione bit her bottom lip and leaned against Viktor whose body was warming than the sun shining through the window.

"It must be a vizard controlling it all, a powerful vizard."

Hermione agreed, but added: "Or wizards. I somehow cannot imagine one wizard commanding legions of Inferi. And now, with what you have told me about Bagman, it is hard to believe that this is work of one person."

Viktor shrugged. "Perhaps. I am more concerned vith vhy."

Hermione shook her head, "I'm more concerned about surviving, getting to Hogwarts."

Viktor frowned. "If you vere in Glastonbury, vhy did you come here, south?"

Hermione hesitated. She knew that she could not explain herself that would seem in any way logical. However, she knew that she would have to try for Viktor's sake, if she wanted Viktor to come with her.

"You'll think I  _am_  crazy, Viktor."

For the first time since being rescued, Viktor grinned. "As long as you are alive, Her-my-nee, I really do not care."

Hermione smiled, but let it fade.

"I had a feeling. I had a feeling that I needed to come here."

Viktor's grin also faded. "Vot do you mean?"

Hermione sighed. "Something called me here. Maybe it was you, I don't know."

Viktor released Hermione's hands and glanced out the window to the lawn again. Hermione wondered if what she had said had somehow upset Viktor, but when she found herself in his embrace, she knew she was wrong.

"Think of this, Her-my-nee. You are the first magical person I have seen since…" he trailed, unable to think of how to phrase the end of their world. "Maybe magic calls to magic."

Hermione did not speak. It was a simple explanation, and she knew that it was perhaps the correct explanation. Basingstoke was a hundred or so miles away from Brighton, a distance that seemed further on foot, and less so on scooter. Hermione held to Viktor, knowing that she could not tell him about the strain of music she had heard. In a way, it did not matter, she had found something in Brighton, someone. She had found a friend.


	3. 3

**3**

Charlie Weasley was running, running for his very life down a country road. The sun was setting and already the screams hounded his every footfall.

"Idiot, Charlie…you…are…a…bloody…idiot!" he gasped as he ran.

The sound of the soles of his dragon skin boots against the pavement made a hard tapping noise, and Charlie knew that if he wanted to survive another night, he would have to either slow to take the boots off, or kick them off as he ran.

Glancing over his shoulder, the black figures of the Inferi were still far behind. Slowing his sprint to a jog, Charlie grunted as he lifted a booted foot up and with a wrench pulled the boot off. Moving to the other, Charlie tucked his boots under his arms and took off again, putting more and more distance between himself and certain death.

He was on a road in Herefordshire, on the way to Thruxton. Charlie wondered if he could still find Thomas Cadwallader's house. Cadwallader had worked with him in Romania, and Charlie knew from Cadwallader's many stories, that his father was fond of racing brooms. As Charlie ran up the road, he wondered if Cadwallader was still alive in Romania.

As darkness fell, Charlie stopped running; the Inferi's shrieks could no longer be heard behind him, and ahead of him, the road stretched on. Somehow, he had managed to live another day, and he hoped, through another night. Cadwallader's house could not be too much farther, he thought, and perhaps someone magical might be alive.

Charlie rubbed his forehead against the sleeve of his flannel shirt and sighed. All he had were his boots under his left arm, his wand in a holster across his chest under the flannel shirt, and a few Sickles in his jean pocket. He had lost his pack a few days before, and all his clean clothes, his canteen, his food, and his favourite pair of dragon hide trousers.

Now walking at a gentle pace, Charlie knew that he should count himself lucky. He was alive.

The night was chilly, but Charlie did not mind the cold pavement under his bare feet. The moon was rising over the countryside, and the stars seemed to pop through the dark canvas of the sky. Charlie usually relished the quiet, no automobiles, no noise of people, and no Inferi shrieking. It was the outdoors and Charlie inhaled deeply.

He was used to not seeing people, he was used to solitude, but as Charlie Weasley walked, he knew that his preference for quiet had been marked—if he wanted he could go home, if he wanted he could go to London, he had had that option. However, that alternative was lost to him and even if he wanted to live among people, it would never happen. 'People' consisted of more than a few guys working with dragons on a reserve in Wales or Romania. 'People' consisted of family, friends, or strangers walking on the street. 'People' no longer existed, and Charlie felt that loss despite the fact that he did not care for 'people.'

Civilization, he figured, was over, at least in Britain. This thought also pained Charlie. As far as he knew, he was the last man in Britain, and that thought made him sick.

* * *

February 21, 2010, Charlie Weasley, thirty-eight years old, lay on a cot in a modest, non-magical tent in Snowdonia National Park, Wales. Eryri Dragon Preserve was what Wizarding folk called the area near the Rhinogydd, a desolate area of rugged mountains and moorland. Well-constructed wards kept the Muggles out and the dragons in.

Charlie woke slowly, staring up at the roof of his tent, scratching his unshaven chin with three weeks growth. Charlie rose and went about his morning routine, which consisted of stepping out the tent in nothing but his skin and doing his stretches. It was bitterly cold at the edge of Coed-y-Brenin forest, and frost lay upon the ground. Charlie did not mind, he was used to the cold it being far more severe in Romania.

He dressed in a pair of jeans, white sleeveless undershirt with a green plaid flannel shirt overtop. Slipping into his boots, he sighed. He was due to go back to London and then to Ottery St. Catchpole to make his apologies for missing his father's birthday party which he had promised to attend.

Charlie ran his fingers through his long crimson hair. He knew his mother would surely want to cut his hair. Charlie smiled to himself, letting his hair fall about his face. It had been far too long since he was home.

After the War, Charlie had acquiesced to his parent's requests that he not stay so long in Romania. Charlie went one step better by transferring to Wales, the reserve he had started working on out of Hogwarts. The Eryri Dragon Reserve protected the Common Welsh Green, some Hebridean Blacks, and a couple Swedish Short-Snouts. Keeping the species apart was what Charlie did, as well as cataloguing the beasts, and some basic scientific observations of habits for Ministry records. However, Charlie loved the job because he could pitch his tent in the most desolate places—moors, mountains, forests, and bogs. He was in his element, the great outdoors, and he was closer to home and family.

Charlie began packing his tent, shrinking everything, cot, cook gear, the tent itself, into his backpack. He would Apparate to the "Lodge" and submit his report. The Welsh Green nesting on Y Garn had laid three brown speckled eggs. It was not going to be an exciting report for anyone else but a dragon keeper. Three eggs was encouraging, the Welsh Greens had not been laying more than one egg for the past five years.

Charlie used his wand to Vanish any lasting remnants of his camp, and slipped his ash and unicorn hair wand into his chest holster. Instead of immediately Apparating back to the "Lodge" or the main office of the reserve, he decided to walk toward the base of Y Garn. It was a grey day, and Charlie knew it would begin to rain at any moment, but he walked, his medium sized pack on his back, his unshaven face pointed to the mountain.

The air felt strange as it blew off the mountain, and Charlie repressed an internal shiver. He inhaled and found that even the air smelled strange. He could not associate the smell with anything he could remember, but the scent unsettled him.

Drawing his wand again, Charlie began to Apparate. He felt his body move, but a bone-jarring jerk slammed him back to where he had been standing. Charlie frowned and tried again, this time falling to his knees, as his insides seemed to jerk inside his body.

Anti-Apparition wards.

Charlie's jade green eyes moved to the clouded sky again, it had begun to rain.

Something was wrong, the wards protecting the Reserve must be off, he thought. The wards protected against people from Apparating into the Reserve, but not out of it. However, Charlie's unique magical signature was known to the wards, he could Apparate in or out whenever he pleased.

Charlie tried one more time, ending up face first into the cold ground, his teeth hurting for some odd reason. He had not splinched himself, he had not moved at all. He could not Apparate.

With an irritated grunt, Charlie pushed off the ground and shrugged off his pack. Digging into the pack, he procured a shrunken metal cup, and resizing it, immediately cast 'Portus.' The cup, which would normally glow blue for a moment, was just a cup. The Portkey spell was not working.

Charlie sent a Blasting Hex at the cup after taking a few steps back, and the cup ripped into slivers of metal. He tried simpler spells, all of which worked. Finally, Charlie sat on the damp ground, leaning back on his palms.

The Lodge was at least two days walk from his camp, but there were trails through the forest, Muggle bicycle trails, and a few Muggle structures outside some wards set in the forest. From there, Charlie knew he could walk along a road to the Lodge at Ganllwyd from Dolgellau.

Kicking up to his feet, Charlie began walking.

He knew something had happened, but what and why would have to wait.

* * *

March 2, 2010, Charlie's back was pressed into the front doors of Shrewsbury Abbey. They had chased him through the dead town, but for some odd reason, did not cross the Abbey Foregate after him.

The sun had barely set when the Inferi came. Charlie gasped for his breath as he slid down the doors to the stone floor. The interior of the church was dimly lit, the remaining daylight making the high windows glow. Outside, the shrieks continued and the sound of breaking glass and whining metal made Charlie scramble away from the doors along the aisle.

It was as he was regaining his breath that the odour hit him, causing him to gag, the sound echoing through the church. Death, sweet and bitter, assaulted his nose and Charlie pushed his sleeved arm against his face. Rising to his feet, Charlie saw that all around him, in every pew, were bodies.

As he moved down the aisle toward the crossing arm and apsidal end, he saw that there were what seemed to be hundreds of bodies, all in various stages of decay. However, he could not see any visible means or causes of death. Even dead, the bodies appeared to have died peacefully. It was unnerving to Charlie as he moved down the aisle back stepping.

Charlie turned toward the large triptych at the far end. He passed under the crossing, past the choir, and stumbled over a step up toward the altar. He felt as if he were trespassing and turned away from the gilt triptych. Instead, Charlie found a space between the stonewall and the tombs of people who had died long ago. In that space, the odour of overwhelming death did not seem as poignant.

He lay on the floor as darkness overtook the church. He had lost his pack running, and all he had was his wand, the clothes on his back, and no food.

Charlie took refuge in the church with the unmoving dead. After he had calmed himself, he knew that he had made a mistaken in coming into Shrewsbury. It was a city compared to the small villages in Wales, and in Wales, the Inferi were not so many.

Travelling had been difficult and tiring. Days of walking made his legs ache, his feet blister, and he was still so far away from home. Home, it was the place he needed to get to, so far away from Shrewsbury to East Devon, Charlie knew that travelling so far south might be impossible. He had seen the devastation, he had seen the dead, he had seen the Inferi, but what he had not seen was anything or anyone alive.

As he lay on the cold stone floor, staring into the wall near his face, he knew that there was a real possibility that his family was dead. Perhaps Bill, Fleur, and the children were safe, they were not in Britain, but had the devastation spread outside to other countries?

It had taken Charlie a day of walking in Snowdonia National Park to realize that the Seal had been set. The Seal—a powerful brand of magic that effectively trapped him on the island with the walking dead—what had been a brilliant idea over ten years before was the end of life in Britain. Charlie wondered if even the officials in the Ministry were dead. He ground his teeth at the thought that perhaps the officials in the Ministry were somehow protected and everyone else dead.

Charlie closed his eyes in the darkness and stifled a moan as his stomach growled. He was having a hard time thinking as hungry as he was, and he knew that he needed to think. How was he going to be able to make it to Ottery St. Catchpole? He could not Apparate, could not Portkey, he could not drive a Muggle automobile, and walking would take ages. Even on the way east, through the countryside, Charlie had not seen one animal, cow or horse, deer or dog. Even riding a horse was out of the question.

The distance, by road, was roughly two hundred miles, Charlie figured. Before he had lost his pack, he had scavenged a Muggle road map out of an abandoned automobile. It was just a bit shorter distance to London, the M54 to the M1. Charlie cursed himself, with Apparition one did not have to know road routes, names of towns along the way from one place to another.

He needed a broom. That was the only way he could think of being able to easily make it to East Devon. But where to get a broom? Charlie's mind began casting about for names and places. He was in Shropshire, had he known anyone who lived to far west?

It was then that Charlie remembered Thomas Cadwallader. Thomas had been the closest thing Charlie had had to a chum in Romania. Thomas was younger, had been in Hufflepuff, but was a natural when it came to handling dragons. Charlie had taken the boy under his wing when Thomas first arrived in Romania and from that point on Charlie had a protégé.

Charlie smiled into the darkness, remembering Thomas. He was a large man, arms as thick as tree trunks, with a friendly flat face, corn silk blond hair, and pleasant blue eyes. Thomas talked about his father often in the cold nights in their camp in the Carpathians. Charlie remembered that Thomas' father lived on a small farm in Herefordshire, a place called Thruxton.

'My da collects brooms, ya know, like old racing brooms. We didn' have much money, but my da, he loved to collect old brooms—restore 'em, sell some. He sold a restored an Oakshaft 79 and sold it to a bloke in Aberdeen—it bought me my Nimbus I had at school…'

Thomas' voice was so clear in Charlie's head, as if the man were speaking just next to his ear. Charlie clapped a hand over his exposed ear and curled his body in on itself. His nerves could not allow him to listen long to ghosts.

Thruxton, he had visited the farmhouse once at Thomas' behest. It had been a night of laughing and drinking in Bernie Cadwallader's kitchen, talking about Charlie's days as a Seeker at Hogwarts. Bernie Cadwallader was an older version of Thomas, his skin tanned, his hair grey, he was a man who worked hard and long hours keeping up a farm. Charlie assumed that old Bernie was dead.

A sharp shriek penetrated the dead silence of the church, but Charlie did not move. The Inferi had not come into the church, but seemed to wander about outside along the Abbey Foregate. Charlie wondered why. Was there something different about the Abbey Church that repelled the undead? Surely it had nothing to do with the church being sanctified ground, Charlie had seen other churches used as dens for Inferi during the day. Charlie gritted his teeth, pushing back all the other things he had seen during his travel out of Wales.

Instead, Charlie thought about Thomas' home in Thruxton and the fields around the small house. Fields of green and gold stretched out all around, the pristine colour only dotted with occasional trees, umbrellas for the cattle to congregate when it rained too hard or the sun was too hot. He thought about how the air smelled there, fresh and clean. It was thinking of Thomas Cadawallader that Charlie slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Thruxton was nearly due south of Shrewsbury, and over fifty miles away. Charlie rose as soon as it was light, opening the doors of the Abbey Church wide. On the street were only a few Inferi, lumbering blindly away from the rising sunlight and into the shadows. Charlie stood on the front steps and watched, curiously. Whatever natural instinct there was in an Inferius made them shy away from sunlight.

Charlie did not know enough, it seemed, about Inferi. The DADA classes at Hogwarts were a blur in his memory. He knew that he could disable an Inferius by blasting away the head, or setting it on fire. Inferi burned easily, like kindling.

He ran again, ran as fast as he could. Self-preservation fueled his running, but hunger burned holes into his gut, or so it felt. South, Charlie ran, south out of the city until the concentration of buildings became less and less. By midday, he was out of Shrewsbury, sitting outside a petrol station, devouring a stale sweet roll in plastic wrapping, drinking warm water out of a plastic bottle.

When he had come upon civilization again outside of the Reserve, Charlie knew that Muggle electricity was not working. He knew that fresher foods were wasting and that if he were to scavenge, it would be only for canned foods. Coming upon a Muggle petrol station along the road, Charlie ransacked the inside for as much as he could salvage. He lamented the lack of wholesome foods, but was too hungry to lament long. Sweets were most of what he could find. It would have to do until he found a safer place to forage.

He had learned early to be careful about going into larger structures like a market, pub, or home. Charlie, only a few days before, had sought refuge in a pub in some small town he could not remember the name, and came upon a nest of Inferi hiding in a windowless back room. Charlie backed out as quietly as he could, but kicking an empty pint glass had set the Inferi upon him no matter the hour of the day.

Inferi did not sleep, did not eat, but they shunned sunlight and fire as if some lingering living instinct remained in their dead brains. Charlie knew that even puppets could not always move the way a puppeteer wanted.

Charlie continued south, a plastic bag hanging off his left wrist with bottles of water and some sort of packaged jerky inside.

As he walked along the motorway, he occasionally pulled out his wand. He sent out a tracking spell, one that he used often to track down dragon young, to detect life, magical life. All life had a unique signature, and Charlie's spell was attuned to detect magical signatures. The spell came from his wand like a spark, but a wave of magic went out, all around him for at least two miles. Then, balancing the wand on his right palm, he waited. If there were life, the wand tip would spark again and move, much like a Point Me Charm.

There was nothing.

Of the number of witches and wizards living in Britain, none seemed to be, or to live in Wales or Shropshire. To Charlie, this fact was not surprising, but it was disheartening. Slipping his wand back into his chest holster, Charlie continued on, picking up speed to jog along the congested motorway lined with dead.

* * *

March 7, 2010, Charlie stood outside the childhood home of Thomas Cadawallader, his booted feet shuffling upon the muddy yard. He had half a mind to call out, but thought better of it. The day was growing late and although he had seen no signs of Inferi, he was not going to risk rousing any to his location with a shout for old Bernie.

He had cast his tracking spell, and again, there was nothing. Perhaps Bernie had left the farmhouse or perhaps Bernie was dead inside. Charlie would have to move soon, the sun moving west to set against Charlie's back.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair and groaned softly. He had to go in, he had to find a broom, and he had to go on.

There were household wards upon the farmhouse, but nothing that deterred Charlie from entering the house. In through a mudroom, Charlie slipped out of his boots. When his bare feet fell upon the worn wooden floor of the kitchen, it made no noise.

Warm sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting colour onto the kitchen counter below the window and the kitchen table in the middle of the small room. Charlie's eyes moved over the room, seeing nothing out of the ordinary from he remembered of the room before.

Charlie remembered that there was a pantry across the room, behind a shelf of canned food, next to the door leading into the parlour. To Charlie's right were the steep stairs leading up into the upstairs of the house with a lavatory and two bedrooms, one Thomas', the other Bernie's. Thomas' mother had died when he was toddler, Charlie remembered, but still the household Charms on the house seemed to have a woman's touch. Thomas' mother must have Charmed the house to keep dust free.

Charlie crossed the kitchen and opened the door to the small parlour, finding it empty, but cheery. He moved quietly back into the kitchen and opened the hidden door to the pantry filled with food. Charlie rubbed his unshaven chin. Stalking across the kitchen to the stairs, Charlie silently ascended. Along a narrow hallway, Charlie opened the doors to the bedrooms, then the lavatory. Again, empty.

Charlie moved to the lavatory window and gazed out to the back of the house to the shed under a bare sheltering oak tree. Bernie had showed Charlie the shed, the inside magicked to house his collection of brooms. The sun was set, and Charlie moved from the window.

The Cadwallader house seemed safe enough for the night, but Charlie moved about the house, securing the windows and doors, not with magic, but with barricades. Charlie did not light the candles and lamps as the darkness descended. He sat at the kitchen table and ate, opening cans, casting warming Charms on tins of meat, canceling a Stasis Charm on a loaf of bread, and made sandwiches to dinner.

Charlie bathed for the first time in weeks, in cold water.

By midnight, Charlie had found a clean set of clothes, too small for Thomas as Charlie remembered him, but fit Charlie well enough. Navy blue corduroy trousers and black knit sweater kept Charlie warm as he curled up on the parlour floor with a quilt over his recumbent form. He clutched his wand as he tried to sleep, but sleep did not come.

The silence, or the lack of Inferi shrieks, allowed Charlie to think for the first time for what seemed a long while. Charlie moved from the floor to sit in the Cadwallader's couch, worn and comfortable. He thought about his situation, his mind moving better after having the closest thing to a true meal.

The Seal had been set. Inferi roamed the countryside. Muggles were dead. Witches and wizards were missing.

Charlie rubbed his clean-shaven face in frustration. He had been too far removed from everything to know the truth of his own situation. Then again, perhaps he was still alive because he had been so removed from the world, in a manner. He knew he could not perform some magicks, but did not know that the world had seemed to end until he came upon the village of Llanuwchllyn. He had walked to the Lodge and found no one, so he walked farther. The small village of approximately 850 people should have been alive, Muggles moving about. Charlie walked into the village as the sun burning through the grey clouds. He knew he would have a hard time explaining to the Muggles his muddy clothes, filthy hair and beard. He hoped to find someone who would not mind giving him a lift out of Wales, as far as he could go.

Llanuwchllyn was dead. Charlie stood in the middle of Main Street, staring down at a body. It was an old woman, lying on the ground as if asleep. There were others, in their homes, in the pub, on the street, in their cars, dead. As if they had decided to lie down and die, not one body seemed unnatural, there was no struggle, no obvious cause of death. Babies, children, teenagers, adult, and the elderly, death had not discriminated.

It was the same everywhere, from the smallest village to a city like Shrewsbury. On the streets, on the motorway, the dead were around. The moving and unmoving dead…

Who was pulling the strings? Had this someone managed to kill millions of innocents? Why? Why was he still alive? Where was old Bernie Cadwallader?

Charlie closed his eyes, leaning back into the couch. Maybe when he got home, he would know more.

* * *

Bernie Cadwallader's shed was empty of any farm equipment, but was filled to capacity with brooms hanging from the rafters in various states of repair. Charlie's jade green eyes moved over the brooms—Cleansweeps, Shooting Stars, Silver Arrows, there were hundreds, all with tags hanging from the twigs with notes in old Bernie's hand.

However, on the worktables below were newer brooms, and resting just under one of the windows was a refurbished Nimbus 2000.

Charlie moved to the broom and laid a hand upon the handle. At his touch the broom moved, acknowledging his magical signature. Charlie studied the handle, the tail twigs, the brackets, and could not tell what been repaired. Even the golden embossed 'Nimbus 2000' on the end of the handle seemed brand new.

As Charlie lifted the broom, a tag fluttered to the floor, resting against the toe of Charlie's boot.

'Refurbishment completed February 18, 2010. Refer to Page 193 of Journal for catalogue of repairs.'

Then, on the opposite side, Charlie read: 'Aiden Lynch's Nimbus 2000.' Charlie smiled. Aiden Lynch, the Irish Nation Team's Seeker, former Ravenclaw Seeker who could never quite edge Charlie out of the Snitch.

Charlie carried the broom out of the shed and dropped it toward the muddy yard, pleased that it did not simply fall, but hovered just at his hip. The morning sun made the handle shine and Charlie smirked. It had been far too long since he had flown. Mounting, Charlie was soon over the roof of the farmhouse, still climbing up and over the fields.

The wind was cold around his head as it whipped his hair behind his face. However, as Charlie braked, hovering high over the farmhouse, all he could see were fields. Hands on his hips, Charlie's eyes scanned the ground, searching. Lifting his hand to shield his eyes, Charlie looked east. Far away, almost lost in the sunlight, Charlie could see smoke just faintly. His heart sank. Smoke did not mean life; he could not afford to be so hopeful.

Charlie flew back down to the farmhouse, sliding in the muddy yard until he came to the kitchen door. Already he had packed a Transfigured knapsack with his old clothes, washed, several days worth of food, and an old refilling canteen. Folded next to the pack was an old travelling cloak, the hem frayed. Charlie shrugged the pack on first, then the cloak before closing the kitchen door tight making the tacked note he had written earlier that morning sway.

It was a thank you note, but Charlie felt that no one would ever read it.

* * *

Flying over 120 mph, Charlie made it to East Devon within an hour and was walking up the two-rut track toward the Burrow at midday. He had circled over Ottery St. Catchpole twice, seeing the dead in the village just as he had seen the dead in every other village.

As he had flown, there was no sign of life, no sign of magic. Even as he walked the track toward his childhood home, he could not feel the wards that kept the house protected. Fear propelled him faster up the track. Charlie dropped the Nimbus, not caring where the broom went as he rounded the bend.

Sunlight streamed down upon the house, and Charlie slid in the rain-dampened yard past the garage and empty chicken coop. The Burrow, his home, stood before him, but not as he remembered it. Though the Wellington boots and the rusty cauldron were in the lawn, the chickens were missing. Charlie's eyes moved up the ramshackle house. The first, second and third floors were intact, but the upper floors were charred.

"Mum! Dad!" Charlie called, running to the kitchen door, bursting inside.

The household Charms were working, the kitchen was spotless, and this fact disturbed Charlie. He stalked into the sitting room, knowing that his mother would scold him for tracking mud into the house.

Charlie called again, up the stairs. He climbed, his voice becoming a roar as he called. When he reached the fourth floor landing, he could go no further. The house seemed to have burned from the attic down, and on the fourth floor landing, all Charlie saw was blue sky with approaching rain clouds. His parent's bedroom was gone, Ron's room, and the attic. All that remained of the fourth floor was the ceiling of the third floor.

"Mum? Dad?" he asked in a whisper.

Charlie trembled as a rain-laden breeze blew under his travelling cloak. The trembling became worse as he turned and slowly descended the stairs. He opened every door, looked into every room. Nothing had changed, and when he stood outside again, moving to the empty garage, to the lonely orchard, there was no clue as to the whereabouts of Arthur and Molly Weasley.

Rain began soaking his hair as he stood like a statue in the paddock around the orchard, listening. He could hear the rain and the distant River Otter. He could hear his breath and his heartbeat. With his eyes closed, his face pointed to the sky, Charlie listened. Faintly, he could hear the hum of magic. He knew it was the ancient sound of magic laid long before the Weasleys had built the Burrow. Before the Burrow was a smaller house of his ancestors and their magic had been laid like a mark upon the land. Charlie stood on the land of his ancestors and their magic remained. Further, beyond the Burrow, the land of the Lovegoods, the Diggorys, the Fawcetts, the old magic hummed in unison with that cast by the Weasleys.

The sound was a small comfort, more like an echo of something long sounded and slowly fading. Still, Charlie listened as the wind began to rise and rain was pelting against his face. Below the hum of magic was another sound, a strange sound. The sound ebbed and flowed on the wind and rain, and Charlie licked his lips, unable to hear the strange sound clearly.

It sounded like a chord of music.

Charlie growled and opened his eyes. He turned on his heel and jogged back to the Burrow. The Charms holding the house together prevented the rain from dripping down into the intact portion of the house, and for that, Charlie was thankful. He had retrieved his Nimbus from the road and began laying wards, renewing the old wards that had protected the Burrow of ages. The spell casting took little time and Charlie was surprised at how easily his spells seemed to come. As a boy, he remembered his father showing him how the wards were laid, the spells that protected the family, and Charlie moved, as his father would have, laying protection.

Charlie stared at the damage to the Burrow for a long while before going back into the house. As with the dead he had seen, there was no obvious cause to the fire damage to the house, or any clue as to where his parents had gone.

He took stock of the pantries, finding them nearly full. Charlie moved about the house as the day began to fail, adding extra protection to the doors and window lest the Inferi somehow make it through the wards designed to assuage anything, living or dead, that came near.

Charlie lit one small lamp, placed it on the kitchen table, and cast his eyes about the kitchen. He could almost see his mother at the sink, wand in one hand, scrub brush in the other, scolding Charlie for letting his hair grow so long. He could almost see his father sitting in his chair at the head of the table, nearest the door, his mouth twisted into a sideways grin.

'You are lucky, Charlie, you aren't going bald,' Arthur Weasley would usually whisper to Charlie.

Charlie smiled to himself and lowered his eyes to the table. Slowly, he rose, lifting the lamp to carry it by the handle as he moved into the sitting room. The light caught the golden face of the grandfather clock. Charlie's eyes narrowed as he looked at the eight hands. Fred's hand had been taken away not long after the Battle of Hogwarts.

All hands but two pointed to 'Lost.'

"All but me and Bill," he muttered darkly, his own clock hand pointing to 'Home' and Bill's to 'Abroad.'

Hope sparked, Bill was 'Abroad.' His older brother was alive.

Charlie set his jaw and moved back into the kitchen, setting the lamp on the table, went to the fireplace, grabbing Floo Powder. Throwing the powder, Charlie expected a flash of green, but nothing happened. He tried again, but the powder fell into the hearth like sand.

Charlie sighed. He had tried. He then wondered about owls, he had not seen any around the Burrow, none over Ottery St. Catchpole. Sitting down at the kitchen table again, Charlie wondered if he could cast a Patronus to send a message—obviously not outside of Britain, but to someone in Britain. The Floo was out, owls were gone with every other animal, and Charlie had a nagging suspicion that finding anyone else would be difficult.

He knew he could not give up the hope that there was someone else who knew what was happening to their world. Whoever had activated the Seal—were they not alive?

Charlie tugged on his hair out of frustration. An empty Burrow was more disturbing than the millions of dead, and Charlie feared that his parents, his family, might be among the lost outside the Burrow's confines.


	4. 4

**4**

* * *

March 30, 2010, Charlie stood on Glastonbury Tor, staring down at the town, which had burned to the ground over a month before. The wind was blowing around him, rustling his cropped hair atop his head. He had come from the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, the famed sanctuary of the Sisters of Ine. The magic that had hidden the Abbey for centuries was gone, and the Abbey itself was open to the elements making the corpses of the Sisterhood rot and stink. The faces were unrecognizable, but Charlie knew that Aurora Sinistra and a girl he had gone to school with were part of the Sisterhood.

In the sunlight, Charlie walked through the charred ruins of Glastonbury, through the fields and up the hillside to the Tor in the east. The fires had long gone, as had the Inferi. For over a week, he had been widening his survey of southwest England—Cornwall, Devon, Somerset, Dorset, Bristol—the number of Inferi he found in those counties was slowly diminishing, moving east.

During his travels through the southwest, Charlie found Muggle newspapers; he had even found a copy of the Daily Prophet in the empty Diggory house. Sitting at the kitchen table, Charlie began piecing the order of events together.

It had started in Cornwall and swept east. Next was Aberdeen, devastation and fear forcing Muggles south out of the Highlands. Charlie began to see a pattern, if it could be called a pattern. Something was driving Muggles out into the open. If the Muggles were not killed by some unnatural manner, the Inferi swept in to kill whoever was left.

Charlie had stared at the pieces of newspaper he had collected. The kitchen table was not quite cluttered with the papers since it was a table that fed nine family members. He walked around the table; his palms pressed together, the tips of his thumbs resting against his lips. The more he read, the more he knew he would have to go to London. The Ministry was the only place he could think to go for definitive answers.

However, Charlie knew he should check every magical place in southwest England. The Loe in Cornwall, Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset, Maiden Castle in Dorset, and Grey Wethers less than hour from the Burrow were places of known concentrated magic, places that could act as gathering points for magical folk and creatures.

So, he stood on Glastonbury Tor, looking at what was left of the village and the sacred space it hid. The Loe had been barren of magic when it had been a sacred place of power. Maiden Castle's wards that hid the reestablished walls were gone. For centuries, Muggles thought that Maiden Castle was ruins on the heath, but for magical folk, it was a tourist location, a natural place of magical power. Again, Maiden Castle was barren. Grey Wethers was devoid of the familiar hum of magic Charlie had known most of his life.

It was as if the magic had been sucked from the earth, sapped. Charlie walked toward St. Michael's Tower and into the shadow. There were only bodies, and Charlie could not tell the difference between magical and Muggle. He had not found anything or anyone, and the silence of death began to deafen him. Charlie hummed to himself a discordant tune, passing under the roofless tower to look east.

The southwestern counties had been tapped dry of magical energy. His own magic suffered, every spell weakening him. Charlie knew he had to go to London. London would have the answers, surely.

* * *

April 12, 2010, Hermione stood upon Waterloo Bridge atop the cab of a lorry. Her amber eyes were narrowed as they gazed toward Covent Garden. The telephone box, the visitor's entrance, was on Carting Lane, but Hermione did not move as the day wore on.

She sat down on the cab, her booted heels tapping back into the cracked windscreen, humming 'London's Burning.' Shrugging off her pack, then her rifle, Hermione dug out a plastic bag and unwrapped a somewhat moldy chunk of bread and warm cheese. Picking off the mold, Hermione ate what she could before spitting out a few bits of bitter rot. Scavenging London, she knew, would be interesting.

London was a dead city for all Hermione knew. She had edged about the southern districts, finding nothing that shocked her any longer—dead Muggles and more dead Muggles.

Opening a half empty water bottle, Hermione washed down the last of the bread and cheese. She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand; the fingers cut half way down the glove. In the back window of an old station wagon, Hermione could see her reflection.

Her long wavy hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, which made her gaunt face seem more severe. She still wore her combat clothes, the same boots, but as she sat atop the lorry, she knew she would have to resize her clothes smaller before long.

The Thames stank as it usually did to her, but the smell of death was stronger. She brushed crumbs from her clothes and climbed back up onto the cab. Stretching, Hermione gazed along the traffic blocking the bridge. In one hundred years, grass would grow between the automobiles, the bodies inside would be nothing but bone. In two hundred years, the elements, the stress and strain, would collapse Waterloo Bridge. In perhaps three hundred years, the Thames would not reek and aquatic vegetation would grow again.

Hermione slipped her muscular arms through the straps of her backpack, all her body fat having been burnt from her bones after two months. As she began to shoulder her rifle, Hermione heard the squawk of pigeons, a flock, and turned toward the west as hundreds of pigeons alit the air in the direction of Trafalgar Square.

Then, she felt it, a wave of magic that swept through her and past her.

Hermione's wide eyes blinked, and suddenly she was running.

Magic meant life.

She had followed the strain of music to Brighton, to Viktor, and she had followed the music toward London. Of course, London was the logical place to go, but after Viktor, the music had compelled her to go to London.

Hermione ran down the Strand toward Trafalgar Square, her legs pumping as hard she could make them move. Her breath came out in deep exhales, and in with trembling inhales. She wondered as she passed Savoy and Southhampton Street if she had run so hard and fast in her life. Running for her life from Inferi was perhaps the only time, besides running from a fully transformed Remus Lupin, that she pushed her body so hard. Even with the weight lightening Charms on her pack and rifle, Hermione still felt weighed down.

Magic meant life, and Hermione Granger was running toward life.

* * *

"I vill go no further," Viktor said, his dark eyes moving along the motorway outside of Pyecombe. "If I start back now, I vill be at the Pavilion before nightfall."

Hermione did not look at Viktor as she sat on the old Indian 841 motorcycle, Viktor leaning against the hood of a grey Volvo in the northbound lane of London Road. They had stopped to siphon more petrol from the stranded cars to fill the small tank in the ancient motorcycle.

It had been a chore to convince Viktor to leave Brighton, and now Hermione knew that Viktor could not be convinced to go further.

"Take the motorbike," she said softly, dismounting and kicking the stand to leave the bike upright.

"No. You vill need it to get to London."

Viktor's voice was strained. He had unsuccessfully tried to convince Hermione to stay in Brighton. Viktor did not hear the music as she had, he did not hear the magic beginning to fade as if being pulled northward like water being sucked toward a drain. She could not tell him that Brighton would soon not be safe. She could not tell him that soon the protection of the Royal Pavilion would wane.

"I have been travelling on foot longer than you have, besides, I am sure I can find another motorbike," she said, finally turning to Viktor.

"It is suicide, Her-my-nee. Even this," he said moving his arms about the clogged motorway.

Hermione sighed and adjusted her rifle. Only two days before, they had used it to snipe from the bell tower of St. Peter's. Hermione had noticed how the Inferi were beginning to move north, but there was still a formidable number of undead in Brighton.

"You know that I won't go back, Viktor, and I know that unless you take the bike, you won't make it back to Brighton before sunset," Hermione said calmly, evenly.

Viktor kicked at the dust on the motorway, irritated.

"I have to go, Viktor," Hermione whispered, moving to Viktor's side, clutching his blockish face between her gloved hands.

Viktor refused to look into her eyes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and brooded.

"You can stay vith me. Ve can live…"

"No."

Hermione's stout response forced Viktor's eyes to meet hers. Slowly, his face began to crumble.

"I…" he began, his voice thick with repressed emotion. "I vill be alone again."

Hermione let her eyes close as she shook her head.

"You will not go, I cannot stay. Please, Viktor, just take the goddamn bike," she whispered.

Viktor said nothing, but pulled his hands from his pockets to wrap his thick arms about her malnourished frame.

"Ve vill die, Her-my-nee. Ve should be dead," he whispered back, pulling her against his body.

Hermione inhaled his scent from his shaggy hair. She knew Viktor was right, but her soul told her that she had to go on; she had to know why she had not died.

Viktor kissed her, the taste of his mouth stale. Hermione kissed him return, letting her weight push them back against the hood of the Volvo; dead eyes of the driver and the passenger watching them blankly.

"Vill you come back?" Viktor asked when their kiss ended for need of air.

"I don't know," Hermione said into his neck, his unshaven jaw brushing into her temple.

Hermione spoke the truth. She knew very well that that moment might be the last time she would see another living person. It was a bitter farewell, of a manner.

"I vill take the bike."

Hermione kissed Viktor's throat, imprinting the scent and taste of him into her memory.

They did not say goodbye, but kissed again, and soon Hermione listened to the high-pitched whine of the motor drift away south to her back. Hermione walked north, along the lane of abandoned automobiles. When she could no longer hear the rumble of the bike, Hermione glanced over her should to the south.

Viktor would be lost to her forever, she knew, but underneath the silence, Hermione heard the strain of music.

* * *

The music became clearer at Gatwick as Hermione walked along the end of airport. The strains had become chords, and Hermione could hear what she believed to be the sound of a brass instrument.

Shaking her head violently, the chords grew indistinct, wrong. She pushed her newly acquired motor scooter along the A23, seeing an automobile in the distance, hoping to refuel what she could and be on her way again.

Hermione knew she was going insane, hearing music, feeling the pull of magic to the north, pulling her north as well. She knew that she must be ill as the soul shifting pull kept her from sleeping at night in the few protected places she could find. The compulsion to go made Hermione risk her life to try to travel all day long. The Inferi were fewer, it seemed, but still could hear and chase her motor scooter if she drove at night.

It was maddening, following her compulsions.

Hermione felt like a zombie, a living zombie bound to follow a bit of mental music that she could not identify. She knew the music, she was sure, but how and from where, Hermione struggled to recall.

After refueling at Gatwick, she moved faster. Hermione knew that if the motorways were empty, she would be in London in little more than an hour. However, weaving between the cars took time.

In London, Hermione would go to the Ministry; she would search for an answer to her many questions.

* * *

Trafalgar Square was empty. It had surprised Hermione how few corpses were in London, and then she found a newspaper in an over turned rubbish bin in Lambeth.

Mandatory evacuation of all major cities, she read, but wondered where the millions of people in the Greater London area would go. The motorways in and out of the city were littered with automobiles; the trains out of the city had not gotten into the countryside before the Holokauston Curse was cast.

There had been no way out.

However, as Hermione stood in the middle of Trafalgar Square, sweat pouring off her brow, she knew that there was life somewhere near. Her amber eyes scanned the square. She saw the National Gallery to the north, and Whitehall to the south. To the west was Canada House and to the east was South Africa House.

No movement, no life, and Hermione bent down to rest her palms on her knees to catch her breath and still her pounding heart. She wondered if the magic had come from the Square, or further west.

Hermione sat down on the damp stone of Trafalgar Square, her hands still on her knees. She listened, her back to the National Gallery, and waited for another wave of magic. Closing her eyes, Hermione could hear the wind between the buildings, the tremulous coo of the pigeons flying overhead, and distantly—footsteps.

Hermione jumped to her feet, drawing her wand, but keeping it in the ready position.

The footsteps were not that of an Inferius, there was not scratching shuffle of dead feet. The footsteps were uniform, quick, and determined. As they neared, they slowed, and Hermione realized someone or something was approaching her from the northeast, from St. Martin's-in-the-Fields.

When the footsteps no longer echoed off the buildings around the Square, Hermione whirled about, wand pointed, and incantation half-formed in her mind.

"Merlin!" a male voice gasped and Hermione's snarling face froze.

Standing just before her, wand pointed at her face, was a stocky male figure dressed in dark clothing with a travelling cloak over wide shoulders. Messily cropped crimson hair burned a bright red in the sunlight, and pale jade green eyes were wide with shock.

"Hermione?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. Had she known someone like this man?

He was dirty, his face smudged with dirt and soot making his fair skin paler in the direct sunlight. He was familiar.

"Hermione, luv?"

His voice was deep and gravelly, and again, familiar.

He took another step forward, lowering his wand. Hermione could see red stubble on his jaw, and smell his scent of body odour, smoke, and death. She knew she smelled similar, but under those scents, she smelled masculinity.

She blinked at the man. "Weasley," she said softly as a means of identifying the man before her. It was not Bill; there were no scars on his face. It was not George, his eyes were blue, and he had only one ear. It was not Ron; he was taller.

"Yeah, it's Charlie. Are you alright?"

Hermione lowered her wand slowly and swayed on her feet. Immediately, Charlie's hands were holding her upright.

"Merlin, you're like a skeleton," she heard him say, helping her move to sit on the damp stone flags of the Square.

Hermione sat down, the rifle's stock knocking into the ground. Charlie was kneeling before her, lifting her face to the sunlight to study her.

"You're starving," he stated, his rough paw like hands feeling her face, along her neck then her arms. "I think you might be sick…"

"No," she said, shaking her head to clear her mind. "No, I'm fine. I just haven't…" she trailed. She wanted to say 'haven't eaten properly,' but as she looked at Charlie, she knew that he had dropped a couple stone. His face was not gaunt, and he seemed just as substantial and strong as Hermione remembered, but there was a lean quality about his face she did not remember.

"For weeks I've been casting that damn Charm…" he muttered, his hands moving to feel along Hermione's muscular legs as if to see if she had broken a bone. "You're the first person alive since February."

Hermione frowned. "Where were you when it happened?"

Charlie pulled his hands away from her ankles and fell back to his haunches. "In February?"

Hermione nodded. She studied his clothing, which seemed to hang from him as her clothing hanged from her body. Under the traveling cloak, he wore a pack made of leather and across his sweater was a chest holster.

"I was in Wales, on the Reserve. Where were you?"

"Glastonbury."

Charlie swore under his breath and turned his jade green eyes to the clear blue sky. "I was in Glastonbury a while back."

"It's gone," Hermione whispered. "Burned."

Charlie nodded, and then said: "I was looking for anyone alive. I tried The Loe, there's a resort there, and a few other places in Devon and Dorset… All the places of concentrated magic are barren. There's no one."

"The Burrow?"

Charlie seemed to recoil onto himself at Hermione's words. Hermione felt her heart palpitate.

"Mum and Dad are gone."

Hermione listened to Charlie as he told her about the Burrow being burnt, the wards down when he came upon the place. She listened to Charlie's words, believing that Bill was alive as he was outside of Britain. She listened when Charlie said that all the hands on the grandfather clock pointed to 'Lost.'

"It would be different if there were bodies, something to tell me where Mum and Dad went, but there was nothing. I cannot imagine what or how the house burnt. There have been anti-blaze wards on the house since before dad was born…"

Hermione closed her eyes slowly as Charlie fell silent. When she opened her eyes again, it was to see how far the sun had moved across the sky.

"We need to get cover," she stated and Charlie turned to gaze at the sun.

Hermione rose unsteadily, but shifted her rifle and began looking around the square.

"St. Martin-in-the-Fields is safe," Charlie said softly, turning his eyes to the northeast.

Hermione turned slowly, looking across the desolate square. As she studied the corner of the small church, she heard a strain of sound, the music. Without prompting, she began walking to the northeast. Charlie said nothing, but followed.

The 'Church of the Ever Open Door' had its doors shut. Charlie ran ahead and opened the door for Hermione, and Hermione felt the change of the air pressure as she passed inside. Closing the door behind her, Charlie pulled his wand out and began levitating pews to barricade the door. Hermione moved down the nave of the white coloured interior, the sunlight casting everything in orange light.

It felt the same as the Royal Pavilion, safe, a bubble of protection. Hermione could feel the hum of magic under feet.

"I've found that some churches are safe," Charlie voice echoed around her, startling Hermione.

Hermione turned to Charlie who was sitting in a pew behind her. She moved to sit in the pew before him, shrugging off her rifle and pack, setting them within reach.

"Not all," Hermione mused.

Charlie shook his head. "Not all, I'm just glad there aren't any bodies in this one."

Hermione said nothing, her eyes moving to the large white coffers in the ceiling.

"Can you tell me what has happened?"

The question made Hermione tremble and carefully, she moved her eyes back to Charlie.

"You don't know?" Hermione asked and shook her head. "Of course you wouldn't, you haven't…" she trailed, her eyes moving to her gloved hand resting on the back of the white pew.

Hermione began her tale with no elaboration. She explained about Glastonbury Abbey, Aurora Sinistra and her wish that Hermione go to Hogwarts, she explained everything up until Basingstoke and then paused.

"Have you been hearing it?"

Charlie's pale brow furrowed, "Hearing what?"

Hermione bit her lip, feeling that it was chapped and rough. She had been worrying her lip ever since coming into the London area.

"But you've felt it. You said that The Loe and Grey Wethers felt barren."

"As if the magic in those sacred places is being pulled toward the north?"

Hermione nodded. "The Inferi too, most of them."

Charlie sighed. "Yeah. But there are still plenty in London."

Hermione then asked how long Charlie had been in London.

"Two days. I just found this place last night. I had planned to try for the Ministry before dark, but then…"

"You found me," Hermione finished.

"A lucky thing."

"Viktor went back to Brighton."

Charlie's eyes widened and Hermione realized she had not mentioned Viktor yet.

"Viktor Krum?"

Hermione continued her tale, telling Charlie about Viktor and Viktor's words. Charlie's face moved from surprise to horror when Hermione retold Viktor's words about Ludo Bagman. Horror made Charlie's face impossibly whiter, and Hermione wondered as she spoke, if Charlie realized that maybe his own parents were victims just as Bagman had been. It was a terrible thought, Hermione knew, but the fact that they were missing made her mind move toward darker avenues of thought.

"It was really 'that' Curse?"

"You know it?"

Charlie nodded, "It is well known in Eastern Europe. A Romanian keeper told me about it when I was working for the Order during the War. The Wizarding communities in Eastern Europe feared the Curse, many of their grandparents were victims during Grindelwald's reign."

Hermione was silent again.

"So that's how it started."

She nodded. "I think it was small at first, starting in Cornwall and simultaneously in the north. Viktor and I think that who ever had Bagman under Imperius could not also be commanding the Inferi. It had to be at least two wizards, herding from the south and north, pushing everything toward the centre."

Everything meant Muggles and magic. Whether it meant magical folk, Hermione did not know. She was certain the Ministry would hold the answers.

"For what purpose?"

Hermione did not know. It was one of the many questions she had.

* * *

The café in the Crypt was dark, but Charlie lit a few candles he had managed to find and used his lit wand to walk back into the kitchen and return with several tins of food. He did not speak as they ate, but Hermione could tell that he wanted to ask a question. Finally, as Hermione pushed away an empty tin of sardines, Charlie spoke.

"Viktor did not come with you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No amount of convincing would make him get far from Brighton. His wife is there…"

"But you said…"

"Buried there."

Charlie said nothing more on the matter.

"My parents should be safe," Hermione said suddenly, more to herself than to Charlie. "And Bill and Fleur and the kids…"

"Yeah…"

"But Ginny and Harry, George, Ron…"

Charlie took a breath. "I couldn't get into Diagon Alley. I couldn't find the Leaky Cauldron…"

Hermione was not surprised. The spells that kept the pub from attracting notice had waned. Even without the 'do not notice' ward, the Leaky Cauldron would be impossible to find. It should have been on Charing Cross Road, and Hermione believed she should have run by it on her way to Trafalgar Square, but she did not remember seeing the bookshop and record store, which acted as buffers on either side of the establishment. All the same, Hermione believed that Diagon Alley was surely abandoned, even Gringotts with its goblins.

"Let's hope that we can get into the Ministry," Hermione whispered.

Charlie seemed to stare at Hermione as if she had grown a second head. She ignored him and rose from the café table, moving toward the kitchen, lighting her way with her wand. Finding a large industrial sink, Hermione turned the tap. The waterworks were working, but the water smelled stale. She washed her face, setting her lit wand on the counter.

"There's a hall, and beds…"

Charlie was standing in the door, his arms crossed before his wide chest.

"Is it safe?"

He shrugged, "It would be more comfortable than sleeping on the pews."

Hermione swallowed her words. She would not forego certain safety for comfort. "Pews are fine."

A London without electric lights was dark as pitch, but what startled Charlie more than the dark was the lack of sound. London was supposed to be alive, humming with life, but as he watched Hermione gaze out of the vent from the bell tower, Trafalgar Square was brimming with Inferi. Lifting her rifle to her shoulder, Charlie watched as she peered through the scope, after casting an intricate 'night vision' Charm on the scope.

Charlie imagined she saw hundreds of undead, moving like a disharmonious swarm. He wondered if they could sense that life was nearby.

"It makes one wonder, why won't they come near the church?" he said aloud

Hermione nearly dropped her rifle at the sound of Charlie's voice just next to her. She had been too concentrated on watching the Inferi that she had not heard him approach.

"It is the magic that runs under our feet," Hermione whispered, hiding her irritation.

Charlie turned his face to her in the dark.

"I can hear it."

He could just see her face smooth in the darkness. He thought she was mad.

"Some people believed that St. Martin-in-the-Fields was built upon an ancient pagan temple, like so many churches and cathedrals in Europe. A few years back, scientists found a Roman grave from the Fifth Century…"

Charlie made no motion or noise to acknowledge Hermione soft words. Instead, he was thinking. Shrewsbury Abbey was an ancient site, as had been all the other 'safe' places he had taken refuge. Did it have something to do with the ancient magicks performed on those sites? He quirked his lips in thought. Glastonbury, the Loe, all of those places were sacred places as well, and their power was gone. How could St. Martin-in-the-Fields be any different? Was it their Christian affiliation? Charlie thought not.

"As soon as the Square is empty in the morning, we should try for the Ministry," Hermione said, moving from the slotted vent before the bells, slipping her arm under the strap of her rifle.

Charlie wanted to ask about the Muggle gun, but said nothing as Hermione walked past him to the ladder down.

That night the shrieks of the Inferi outside in the Square seemed less frightening to Charlie. Hermione slept in the padded pew in front of him. He could not see her, but he could hear her breathing change as she fell asleep.

He had not seen Hermione Granger in years. He knew that she and Ron had had a falling out not long after the War, but Charlie did not know over what or why. All he knew was Hermione was not at Christmas dinner as she usually was through the years. In fact, the last time he had seen her was in passing at the Ministry six years before. They had not greeted each other; there had not been time. Charlie was to meet Newt Scamander from the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He had passed her as she was leaving a lift. Charlie doubted she noticed him. To Charlie's memory, Hermione Granger appeared very angry, her riotous waves of caramel hair seeming to stand on end and her amber eyes flashing malevolently. He could not remember her looking so much like a woman before.

Hermione Granger had always been Ron's 'smart girlfriend' in Charlie's mind, but when he found her in Trafalgar Square, she looked more like a warrior queen. Granted, she was thin and pale, but her eyes blazed like gold in her face. She had grown into an attractive woman, albeit too thin and filthy.

What bothered Charlie, however, was her distance. He was so elated to meet someone alive, but that someone was shell shocked, their normal personalities removed in lieu of survival. Charlie knew that he was much the same, and he knew that he probably seemed like a too eager idiot to Hermione. From her tale, he knew that she had had a rougher time than he had. She did not have a broom and had been walking or riding on a Muggle motorbike to get from place to place.

He wondered what had really happened with Viktor Krum. Was it so simple that Viktor would not leave Brighton because he was too attached to the fact that he had buried his wife there? Hermione did not seem too regretful that she had let Viktor go back to Brighton. The detachment Charlie sensed from the woman sleeping in the next pew was disconcerting. Charlie did not know Hermione well, but what he did now of her was that she was passionate, brilliant, and loud to voice her thoughts.

As he lay on his side, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, he wondered if he had also changed so much. Was he in shock?

He frowned. At least Hermione believed her parents alive. Charlie did not want to think about his parents now that he knew…

Charlie's thoughts trailed as he heard Hermione make a noise, a sound that was like a whimper. The whimpering grew louder and Charlie sat up, leaning forward to look down in the pew. Hermione's face was dimly light from the windows in the chancel, and Charlie could see that she was asleep. However, tears sparkled along her long lashes.

Charlie could see that she was dreaming.

When her whimpers turned to cries, Charlie crawled over the back of the pew and sat next her head. He stroked the strands of lank hair that had fallen loose from her hair tie. Hermione stirred, but did not wake, and wriggling in the pew, laid her head on Charlie's left thigh.

Charlie stiffened as she wiped her face into his corduroy clad thigh. Her tears soaked into the fabric and her fingers dug under his leg for the warmth. Charlie relaxed and ran the back of his fingers along her gaunt cheek. She mumbled something indistinct and slept more peacefully.

He sighed, shifting a bit in the pew. Charlie was not ever close to anyone besides his family. He had had girlfriends, all short-lived romances. He had had occasional lovers, usually the female dragon keepers on the Reserve. However, Charlie had never really cared for anyone or anything besides his dragons. He knew that his preference for solitude and dangerous creatures was not the norm. Molly Weasley lamented the fact that Charlie had not 'settled down and had children' like his siblings. As things were, Charlie figured, it was just as well. Viktor had lost his wife, and Charlie could not imagine how painful it felt to lose the one you loved the most.

Hermione mumbled into Charlie's thigh again, more words that was too muddled to understand. Charlie wondered if Hermione Granger had someone. She had not mentioned worrying about anyone but her parents. Perhaps she was like him, unattached, and better for it.


	5. 5

**5**

* * *

The telephone box was in shadow, but across the street, Charlie Weasley and Hermione Granger stood in sunlight, eyes squinted.

"I hate this," Hermione muttered.

"I just hope we can get in," Charlie muttered back.

Charlie stood stiffly under his cloak, his hands shoved into his pockets. Hermione stood with the strap of her rifle across her chest, her hand on the handle of her wand at her belt.

Hermione was worried what they would find once they were inside. Together, they walked to the telephone box, Charlie opening the door, and like a gentlemen, let Hermione step inside first. With Charlie pressed into her back, his face frowning at the barrel of the rifle nearly poking him in the nose, he shut the door behind them.

Hermione picked up the receiver and dropped it, knowing that it was useless. With her grubby finger, she dialed: six-two-four-four-two.

Charlie jumped as a crackling sound filled the box; Hermione bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood.

A recording started, the usual female voice used by the Visitor's Entrance was muddled by static. "Thank you for your inquiry to the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic. We regret to inform you that the Ministry is closed. If you would like to leave a message, please dial one. If you are in need of a representative of Magical Law Enforcement, please dial two. If this is an emergency, please dial zero-zero."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to Charlie who shrugged. Forcefully, Hermione jabbed twice at zero.

Again, there was a terrible crackling noise and a voice sounded in the box.

"We apologize, but the Ministry of Magic is closed. If you like to leave a message, please dial one. If you are in need of a representative of Magical Law Enforcement, please dial two."

There was a pause, and then in a different voice, a male voice: "If the Seal has been enacted and you are seeking assistance from the Ministry, please dial seven-three-two-five."

Hermione punched in the numbers and the box jerked. Charlie's large palms slapped the glass panels of the box as it began to descend slowly and roughly. There was no light overhead, as was normal, and the unpleasant ride down into the Ministry was in darkness.

"That voice sounded very familiar," Hermione commented, feeling Charlie move against her back.

"I think it was Kingsley's voice," Charlie said tightly.

Hermione hummed to herself as the descent continued. When light filled the box again, it was dim. The Atrium was empty, hundreds of bare fireplaces on either side of the hall. Hermione stepped out just as the box touched the polished wood floor, wand drawn. Charlie was soon at her side, his eyes moving along the Atrium.

They moved together toward the fountain. No water was flowing over the golden figures of the Fountain of Magical Brethren and further down the hall, there was no watch wizard at the counter.

Hermione sniffed the air as Charlie moved to the counter, bending over the side to look behind. The air was stuffy, stale, but she could not smell the tale-tell scent of death that meant Inferi.

Charlie moved to the lifts, Hermione following. Together, they stared at the disused lifts.

"Where should we try first?" Hermione asked aloud, her voice echoing through the Atrium although it was little more than a whisper.

"We start with Level One and work down. Personally, I would like to start with the Minister's offices."

Hermione nodded and jabbed at the call button. Surprisingly the lift doors opened immediately, admitting Hermione and Charlie. Charlie worked the lever in place of the usual man, and soon the lift was moving, backwards and then down.

"Level One, Office of the Minister of Magic," a cool female voice sounded in the lift.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she exited first, stepping into a corridor of white marble walls and floor. When Shacklebolt had been Minister, the corridors were a dark golden marble. Hermione had not been in the Ministry since Hestia Jones became Minister.

The corridor was empty, the length running down both sides of Hermione. To the right were the offices of the Minister, to the left, the offices of the Wizengamot.

"Stand behind me," Charlie said, breaking the pristine silence of the white corridor.

Hermione did not question as Charlie moved before her.

Magic swept from Charlie as a spell was cast. She felt that it was the same spell Charlie had used to locate her. A flash of light had accompanied the spell, but as Charlie stood still, darkness fell into the corridor again, the only light coming from the lift as the grate closed.

"Nothing…" he said.

Hermione moved to his right side as he gripped his wand again and lowered the tip to the floor.

"You'll have to teach me that spell," Hermione said, trying for a smile, but failing.

In the light from the lift, Charlie seemed baffled by Hermione's expression. Hermione licked her chapped lips and turned, lighting her wand and starting toward the Minister's offices. Charlie followed, also lighting his wand. The wall sconces did not react to their presence, and Hermione fell ill at ease.

Hermione pushed through the large oak doors into the front of the offices of the Minister of Magic. The first office was dark, the enchanted windows blank. She moved around the front counter, past the secretary's desk and to another set of oak doors.

"Hermione," Charlie began before Hermione tried the door.

The doors did not move as Hermione pushed upon them. Hermione stared at the doors for a moment.

"Hermione?"

She grimaced and raised her boot. Charlie was visibly shocked as Hermione kicked in the door, not bothering to cast 'Alohamora.' The doors flew open, banging back into the walls.

Hermione did not enter as Charlie moved to her side; instead, she coughed and pressed her sleeve against her nose. Charlie mimicked her motion, gagging.

The room was not completely dark, a magical fire burning in a small fireplace against the far wall. The odour was all too familiar.

Hermione and Charlie moved in unison. Charlie lit the non-drip candles, and Hermione cast an air freshening Charm. In the light, Hermione's eyes took in the room. Behind a large desk piled with file folders and rolls of parchment sat Hestia Jones in a padded leather chair. Her white, dead eyes were pointed to a spot before the desk, her mouth agape in death.

The Minister of Magic had been dead for some time, her body bloated, flies moving over her purple distended flesh.

"I have always wondered," Hermione said softly, studying the woman's face.

Charlie was across the room, standing next to a winged back chair before the fire.

"Where do the flies come from? This office has been closed up for weeks now—so where do the flies come from?"

Charlie stared into the back Hermione's head, and Hermione could feel his incredulity at her words. Hermione blinked and turned away from the desk, moving to the middle of the office and a centre table with a spray of dead flowers. Lying on the floor was another body.

"Marcia Edgecomb," Hermione said aloud, kneeling next to the body. "Department of Magical Transportation, current Head."

Standing again, Hermione moved to the wall across from the Minister's desk. Another body was leaning against the wall, beneath an empty portrait. "Amos Diggory, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, current Head."

Hermione studied Mr. Diggory's body, his wand hanging from his bloated fingers. Her eyes moved along the wall to yet another body. Kneeling beside the body, Hermione pushed it onto its back, and sighed.

"Arnie Peasegood, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, current Head."

Charlie had not responded, and as Hermione moved to the fireplace, she understood why. A body rested next to the fireplace, Floo powder scattered on the tiles before the hearth. Even dead, Hermione did not have to search for a name.

"Merlin," she whispered, glancing up from the body to Charlie.

Charlie was trembling violently, his jaw set, his eyes clear as she stared at the face. Hermione hesitated to touch Charlie's right arm, his right hand clenching his wand until his knuckles were white.

Percy Weasley's body rested at an odd angle against the wall. From the way his body was posed, it seemed he had been in the process of making a Floo call when he was killed. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to the other bodies.

"The Killing Curse, all of them," she whispered.

All but the Minister had been killed mid-stride or mid-spell. The effects of the Killing Curse were unmistakable to Hermione's eyes. However, Hermione felt as if something were off. She forgot about consoling Charlie and moved to the Minister's desk, studying the body of Hestia Jones again. As she stood before the woman, the only sound she could hear was the artificial crackle of the fire and Charlie's trembling form. Hermione closed her eyes and listened harder.

There was a startling lack of something. There were the hum of the spells she and Charlie had cast in the room, but beyond that, there was nothing.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. There had been a vacuum of magic until she and Charlie had entered the room—Hermione knew that the Killing Curse left a palpable taste and feeling upon a person. It made no sense, she would have never considered it before, but there was a starkness to the office. It was not just the office in which she stood, but also the entire Ministry.

Someone had sucked the marrow from the bone, but not all of it for she could still use magic.

Hermione turned her attention to the rolls of parchment on the Minister's desk. Moving to stand next to the deceased Minister, Hermione picked up the topmost parchment. Her eyes scanned the handwritten words.

"Sweet Nimue," she gasped as she read over a list of names, a long list of familiar names. "Charlie?"

Charlie did not turn away from Percy's body. Hermione knew that Charlie would be in shock, she knew she in shock but she was setting it aside. She did not have siblings, and Hermione could not imagine coming upon a loved one in such an unexpected manner. However, as she stared at the parchment in her hand, she was beginning to understand how it felt.

Charlie turned away from Percy's body, his eyes distant, and came to stand just before the Minister's desk.

"What is that?"

Charlie had not made a motion to the document in Hermione's hand, and his voice was flat.

Hermione began in a tremulous voice. "It is a memorandum from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, dated February 25, 2010, after the Seal was set on February 21st. It is a list of names, people who were missing…" she trailed, losing the resolve of her voice. Clearing her throat, she began again. "People who were used to cast the Holokauston."

Charlie's hand reached for the parchment and Hermione passed it across the desk, her hand trembling. The names of sixty-seven witches and wizards were emblazoned on the backs of her eyes. She knew most of names, people she knew in person, the other names were of people she had heard of or read about.

"Ludo Bagman, Heathcote Barbary, Miles Bletchly…" Charlie read aloud, his jade green eyes moving down the alphabetized list. "Neville Longbottom… Narcissa Malfoy… Harry Potter…"

Hermione closed her eyes. She felt as if she were going to vomit.

"Angelina Weasley, Arthur Weasley… Gods…"

Hermione heard the parchment flutter from Charlie's hand to the carpeted floor. When she opened her eyes, it was to see Charlie stalking out the office and out of sight to be sick. Hermione sighed and walked around the desk to pick the parchment up and begin folding it. She could hear Charlie groaning, but she did not go to him.

The rest of the memorandum had dashed all remaining hope. Aurors had been dispatched to seek out the missing sixty-seven witches and wizards, and on February 25, 2010, the sixty-seven Imperius'd souls were dispatched to another world.

Neville, Harry, Angelina, Arthur, those were people who had been close. Harry had been the Boy Who Lived, and he was dead. Hermione fell against the desk, holding her head in her hands to keep her mind from spinning. Harry had always been able to break through the Imperius Curse by sheer fortitude of mind, Hermione could not understand. So many of the names on the list were people who had fought in the War for the side of light, but there were also names of former Death Eaters and their families. So many names were of people Hermione knew to be strong in character and mind. But what bothered her more than the names on the list was the fact that every other witch and wizard in Britain seemed to have disappeared.

Ron, George, Ginny, Molly, their names were not on the list. And what of the people in the room? Who had killed them and why?

Hermione whirled to the desk and began searching. Parchments fell to the floor, all of which were of no interest to Hermione. She looked for something about Hogwarts, the Seal, emergency orders, evacuations notices, but there was nothing.

The lack of something pertinent seemed off. If the Ministry and all of Britain were in emergency mode, there had to be something on the Minister's desk. Moving about the desk, she pushed the heavy chair and the Minister out of the way, as she began pulling out drawers, breaking locks by using her wand to blast into the wood.

Nothing and more nothing, Hermione's chapped and broken lips trembled.

"What are you doing?"

Hermione froze, glancing up from a bottom drawer to look at Charlie. Charlie's face was ashen, but he seemed calmer.

"There has to be something more than a memorandum. There has to be something about evacuation, about the Seal…"

Charlie said nothing, but his eyes moved about the room, pointedly overlooking the bodies.

"What do you know about the Seal?" Charlie asked, his eyes returning to Hermione.

Hermione blinked as she rose. What did she know?

As she moved out of the Minister's office, she lit her wand in the darkness in the corridor. Charlie followed silently as she moved to the lift and gently tapped the button to open the grate.

She knew she had opposed the act Shacklebolt and Moody had designed. She also knew that Harry had been for it.

As an act of recompense, several families associated with Voldemort volunteered family secrets to help construct the magic involved with the Seal. The Malfoys, the Bulstrodes, the Goyles, the Parkinsons, and a number of other Pureblood families collaborated with the Ministry. Magical markers were set around the British Isles, and spells constructed.

"Not much," Hermione answered finally as she stepped onto the lift.

Hermione worked the lever, and as the lift began to move, Charlie touched Hermione's shoulder. She had been shaking. Hermione turned to Charlie, the barrel of her rifle scrapping the grate of the lift.

When the pert feminine voice announced 'Department of Mysteries,' Hermione's face was buried into Charlie's black jumper. He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head.

She was exhausted. Hermione inhaled the knit of Charlie's jumper and closed her eyes. He was warm, unusually so, and she wondered if he would allow her to sleep against his chest for a few minutes. However, before the grate could close, Charlie reached around Hermione to hold it open.

"C'mon," he said softly, tenderly.

Hermione opened her eyes and inhaled again. Under the body odour and death, Charlie smelled like everything good about the forest.

* * *

The Locked Room. Hermione had always wondered ever since Fifth Year what was inside. She remembered Harry telling her what Dumbledore had said about the room. Inside was the most powerful magic, Dumbledore had said.

Love.

Hermione had come to feel that Dumbledore was full of hippogriff shite. In the room with revolving doors, the door to the infamous Locked Room stood open. And sitting just in the door was a person.

Hermione and Charlie stood in the middle of the circular room, their wands trained upon the figure whose back was resting upon the jamb. As they approached, the figure did not seem to notice them, and when Hermione jabbed the cowl-covered head, it rolled about on its neck.

Charlie made a noise as if to warn Hermione, but Hermione knew—this person was not dead.

Kneeling, Hermione curled her thumb about her wand and pushed the cowl from the figure's head. Silver hair tumbled down wide shoulders, a stark contrast from the black cloak the person wore.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the open door of the Locked Room, his lips cracked, his eyes ringed with black, his face more gaunt than Hermione's. Hermione nudged her old schoolmate, but Draco Malfoy did not wake. She felt for a pulse and found one though it was weak.

"He's dehydrated, starved," Charlie said kneeling next to Hermione. Charlie studied Malfoy's form. "He is wandless."

Hermione did not want to assume so much and she ran her hands under his cloak, over Malfoy's black business suit, over his arms and legs and into his boots. Then, taking hold of his pointed chin, she adjusted his head so it leaned back into the doorjamb.

Draco Malfoy, despite being half dead, looked surprisingly handsome. In the lit chandelier in the middle of the circular room, he looked very much like a younger version of his father, but beaten and ill.

"I'm going to try to wake him," Charlie uttered softly, and Hermione nodded.

Hermione stood and stepped back. Charlie tried a simple 'Rennervate,' but it was ineffective. Then Charlie cast a wordless spell, the colour of the magic a soft white, Hermione could not identify the spell.

Immediately, Draco Malfoy's pale eyes opened and he gasped for breath. Dry coughing took the man, and Charlie glanced back at Hermione concerned. With a bit of Conjuring and an 'Aguamenti,' Hermione passed Charlie a crude metal cup of cold water. Hermione knew her Conjuring and Transfiguration were getting weaker as her body was growing weaker.

Charlie pressed the cup to Malfoy's lips and Malfoy drank between coughs. Hermione noticed that he did not try to lift his limbs, and she wondered if he were somehow injured in a manner she could not see. She waited, shifting from foot to foot, until Malfoy seemed aware that he was not alone.

"Weasley?" came a croak, and Hermione turned her attention to Malfoy's face.

"Yeah," was all Charlie said.

"Not the one I knew in school…" Malfoy trailed, coughing again.

Hermione moved closer, knowing that Malfoy's coughs were not a sign of good health. The way he coughed seemed to use every bit of his strength.

"Granger?"

Hermione did not acknowledge Malfoy, but raised her wand.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Charlie asked, turning to her as she stepped closer.

Malfoy's eyes widened in fear as Hermione cast, and then narrowed as his coughing subsided.

"How long have you been sitting here, bleeding into your lungs?"

Malfoy swallowed and glanced to Charlie. "I don't know."

"Why are you sitting in the door?"

Malfoy's red-rimmed silver eyes moved to the black polished floor. "I fell here. I think I was Stunned."

Hermione knelt next to Charlie who pressed the cup to Malfoy's lips again. Malfoy's hand twitched, Hermione noticed, but again he did not raise his hands. She had healed his broken ribs and the punctured lung, but there seemed to be more wrong with the man.

"Can you tell us what happened here?" Charlie asked softly, setting the cup aside.

Malfoy nodded. "I came here to see if I could lift the Seal."

Hermione and Charlie shared a look.

"When?"

Malfoy nodded. "I don't know. A few days ago?"

"Where did you come from? Where is everyone?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"Hogwarts, I came from Hogwarts."

"Then it is safe?" Charlie asked.

Malfoy nodded. "It was when I left. The castle was full of refugees."

Charlie and Hermione were lost in thought for a moment. There were so many questions, but Hermione was the first to break out of her own mind.

"Who is doing this, Malfoy?"

Malfoy blinked and tried to move, but grimaced instead. Hermione studied Malfoy again.

"I think my legs are broken," Malfoy gritted out.

"Merlin," Charlie swore, standing. Hermione was about to cast the appropriate spells, but Charlie acted first. Within a few moments, Malfoy was on his feet, supported by Charlie.

"In here," Malfoy said, inclining his head toward the Locked Room.

Hermione followed behind Charlie and Malfoy into a darkened room. From what she could see, the room was not very large, but the walls were lined with shelves. Upon the shelves were books, artefacts that looked like holy relics, weaponry, and jars of strange looking two headed creatures in formaldehyde, among other things. In the middle of the room, where Charlie and Malfoy were standing, was a small stone dais as high as Hermione's hip.

Malfoy took a step away from Charlie on his own volition. A light shone down onto the dais from an unseen place, and the reflection of light off the top of the dais lit Malfoy's pale face and hair so that it seemed to glow silver despite the dark circles around his eyes. Even Charlie's jade green eyes seemed to glow brighter.

Upon the dais was a silver bowl, like a Penseive, but shallower and filled with clear water. Hermione frowned at the bowl, moving to stand between Charlie and Malfoy. Looking down into the bowl, she saw her reflection, a perfect reflection. Hermione could see how dirty she was, how tangles framed her gaunt face. She looked as dead as an Inferius except her eyes. In the mirror of the water, her eyes glowed golden.

"This is Prester John's fabled mirror," Malfoy drawled, apparently feeling in better health. "Utter nonsense, but that is what it is called."

"You can see places in this mirror?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy made a noise and Hermione glanced up, she knew he want to make a smart remark, but thought better of it.

"It is  _one_  thing it can do."

Hermione frowned. "And this is important because?"

Charlie pinched Hermione's arm without Malfoy's notice and Hermione clenched her teeth. She knew she would have a bruise.

"This is how I was going to try and lift the Seal."

Hermione knew that she was exhausted and her mind was not functioning as well as she liked, but she could not see how a water filled bowl was going to help lift perhaps the greatest and most unfortunate bit of magic every created.

"You haven't tried yet?" Charlie asked softly, staring as if transfixed into the bowl.

Malfoy coughed, and for the first time Hermione saw him struggle to raise his pale hand to his colourless lips.

"I couldn't. I was attacked by…" he trailed. Then with a pained sigh: "I'll show you."

Hermione blinked as Malfoy stepped forward and with no ado, thrust his hand into the bowl. A flash of light from the bowl made Hermione jump back, wand at the ready. Charlie had reacted similarly, but as a tendril of smoke rose from the bowl, they relaxed. Hermione looked to Malfoy whose eyes were closed, his body trembling as more smoke rose from the surface of the water, swirling. Colour seemed to seep into the smoke and soon a shape formed. It was of a building, or what looked like a building to Hermione. Slowly, the smoke shifted and she realized what she was seeing.

It was the room just outside the door. What Hermione was seeing was something like a surveillance recording, a magical version in three dimensions.

From one door, Draco Malfoy entered the circular room, dressed as he was as he stood next to Hermione. His long platinum hair fell in wavy strands from the cowl of his cloak. He moved purposely to the centre of the room as the doors began to rotate around him. When the walls stopped, he turned slowly about the room and then moved to a door. Then, pulling his wand from his cloak, he cast a spell that resulted in a green stream of magic. A door glowed for a moment and then the latch opened.

Hermione could hear the sound of the latch like a sound effect from a Muggle telly. She watched as Malfoy began to go into the door, but from her vantage point, there was movement across the circular room and suddenly, another figure entered.

There was as strange rasping noise and the smoky form of Malfoy whirled, and a Stunner whizzed across the room. The Stunner was deflected and ricocheted into the wall. Malfoy moved back toward the door, and Hermione knew that Malfoy wanted to get into the former Locked Room and shut the door.

She could not see the other person in the round room, and she moved to Charlie's other side. From her new vantage point, she saw a face from under a heavy cowl.

The face was pale, and purplish lips moved to soundlessly incant.

Crucio.

Malfoy tried to deflect the Curse, but caught part of it, knocking into the jamb of the Locked Door. Malfoy's face contorted angrily, but he did not speak, instead he cast the Killing Curse, but the magic slammed into the opposite wall. Hermione blinking seeing that the black cloaked figure seemed to Apparate just in front of Malfoy. She knew it was impossible to Apparate and figured the figure must be able to move incredibly fast, faster than a normal human being.

Malfoy shouted out of surprise, and then a flash of red against his chest slammed him into the doorjamb again. It had been a Stunner at close range, but as she watched Malfoy sink to the floor, she knew it was not simply a Stunner. Bone-splitting Hex and a Stunner, Malfoy was struggling to remain conscious.

A white hand poked at Malfoy and then, pulling the cowl further over Malfoy's head, the figure stepped back. Pushing at its own cowl, the figure revealed itself, long black hair spilling over wide shoulders. What would have been a handsome face was deathly white, fathomless grey eyes were too bright, too alive. Hermione shivered as she looked at the face, and soon the face was gone as the smoke dissipated.

Malfoy had pulled his hand from the bowl and stumbled back, catching the edge of the dais to keep from falling.

"He did not speak a word," Charlie said softly.

"Why didn't he kill you?" Hermione asked Malfoy who was sweating profusely.

She knew he was ill, even after mending his bones. Malfoy needed a Healer.

"I don't know, maybe because we're related," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

Hermione smirked, but let it fade as her tone turned grave. "Regulus Black is the reason why our world has turned to shite?"

Malfoy startled both Hermione and Charlie by throwing his head back and laughing.

"Regulus Black has been dead since 1979, Granger. What you saw was a reanimated corpse."

Hermione's brows knit. No reanimated corpse could perform magic and no reanimated corpse had eyes that were so bright.

"That is impossible," Charlie muttered as the surface of the water settled again, reflecting their faces.

Hermione nodded. "He was drowned after placing the fake Horcrux in the cave…" she trailed. "Drowned by Inferi."

Charlie glanced to Hermione, his eyes wide. "Inferi cannot use magic," he whispered.

"He was not an Inferius," Malfoy said, turning their attention to his pale face again. "He was something else."

Malfoy's voice was grave, and as he moved closer to the mirror again, Hermione could see his anger. His face was slightly flushed.

"He's the one who has been commanding the Inferi, but we think that even he has someone controlling him," Malfoy continued.

"We?" Charlie asked.

Malfoy's eyes moved to Charlie. "Your brother, my father, Susan Bones, and myself."

Hermione bit her lip again. Ron was alive. Something inside her seemed to shake loose, and tears ran down her cheeks. She heard Charlie whisper her name, and then his arm wrapped about her shoulders in a soothing gesture. Hermione said nothing, and did not move.

"We have been working to understand the order of events from February 18th to the 25th. Bones believes that if we can find the order of evens, we can understand where our weak point lies…"

"Weak point?" Charlie asked.

Malfoy nodded, "Not a very apt term, but if you haven't noticed, magic is draining away from places in Britain, places where magic is the strongest. My father believes that the reason Glastonbury Abbey was destroyed was because it had the highest concentration of magic in the southwest…"

Hermione perked at Malfoy's mention of Glastonbury Abbey and caught his pale eyes.

"Why?" she asked vaguely.

Malfoy blinked. "Granger, I don't…"

"Why would someone want to somehow destroy the magic in Glastonbury Abbey?"

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "The magic was not destroyed, it was drained…like a Muggle battery. Magic cannot be destroyed, but it can be moved…"

Hermione's eyes moved to the bowl again. Why pull magic away from one place to another? It did not make any sense. Unless…

"For some reason, some of us are losing our magical ability, as if the innate magic in us is being eaten away," Malfoy said.

"You?"

Malfoy swallowed thickly, but shook his head. "Not me, not yet. But most of the Pureblooded wizards who survived are…"

Charlie stiffened. "My family?"

Malfoy snorted, "Surprisingly, no. My father is weakening, and I… You saw the spells I cast—they were weak attempts at defence. But there are others, and they are dying because their magic is being drained away. Longbottom's grandmother was the first to go, then more old ones."

Malfoy's voice turned soft, and Hermione wondered whom he had lost besides his mother. She knew so little about Draco Malfoy after the War. Had he married? Did he have children?

"The youngest died along with the oldest. A child's magic is strong, but uncertain, in flux. The weakest went first…"

Malfoy's voice was trembling, and Hermione knew then that a child had been lost. He stood silently for a long while, staring down into the mirror.

"There was more dying when I left, and we were no closer to an answer as to why."

Charlie's arm moved to Hermione's waist, and though the gesture was soothing, it was foreign to Hermione.

"Then why remove the Seal?" Charlie asked, and Malfoy seemed to recompose himself.

"It was a theory that your brother had," Malfoy said with a light smirk. "I happened to agree with the theory, and here I am."

"The theory?" Hermione asked, stepping out of Charlie's embrace to near Malfoy.

"The Seal—Weasley believes that by setting it, we have inadvertently begun to pull magic from every living witch or wizard to maintain it.

When Shacklebolt had us begin working on setting the markers to construct the Seal, there had been issue with how we were to 'power' the Seal. There was a debate whether this magical energy would come from Britain itself, or from some other source.

Individually, when we work magic, we draw that energy from ourselves. And in being human, our bodies heal, recharge—we can use magic up into our old age. However, a continuous strain upon our magic will eventually drain us, kill us, and that is Weasley's theory."

Charlie shifted on his feet. "But not all of us are feeling the strain."

Malfoy nodded. "It  _was_  a theory. All the same, the Seal needs to be dissolved. If you haven't noticed, we are systematically being exterminated—Muggle and magic alike."

Charlie did not retort, but Hermione spoke again.

"The Seal is the only thing that is containing this, Malfoy. If you release the Seal, it will spread…"

"It has been considered," Malfoy snarled. "But unless we release the Seal, we will never have a fighting chance!"

Hermione did not react to Malfoy's anger. She could see both sides, but theory alone would not be enough to push her to release the Seal.

"Do you even really know who is responsible? If Ron thinks that someone is using the resurrected Regulus Black…"

Malfoy sighed and then with a visible effort, brushing his finger through his hair, conceded: "We do not know who used those witches and wizards to cast the Holokauston. That is something that my father and your brother have been working on since we sought refuge at Hogwarts…"

"Has Hogwarts been attacked?" Hermione asked, interrupting.

Malfoy sneered, but composed himself again. "Yes, but the attacks have not gotten beyond the gates. It is daily, several times a day. Inferi swarm just outside the boundaries and walls of the grounds, but McGonagall must have laid a ward—they cannot get through. Father thinks it is a ward to distinguish the dead from the living. A clever ward, by all means, but in the beginning, it was not enough."

Charlie inhaled loudly and Hermione glanced to him.

"We arrived at Hogwarts on February 22nd. We flew on broom, as had so many others, and on that day, there was fighting on the grounds. Ministry Aurors were fighting against Imperio'd witches and wizards. That was where Longbottom fell, and Johnson…"

Malfoy's eyes grew distant, and Hermione pursed her lips. "Your mother?"

Malfoy jumped at the sound of Hermione's voice and his mind came back to the present. "She had gone shopping in London the day before it started. We grew worried when she came back late and immediately went to bed. The next morning, she was gone from the Manor, the elves upset, claiming that she had been acting odd. Father started looking around the county. By then, we realized that something was wrong, we could not Apparate or Floo…Portkeys were useless. So, we flew.

We found her in Mere toward midday, dying. She been under the Imperius, and she had been killing Muggles…"

Malfoy's voice broke, but he cleared his throat and lifted his head proudly.

"I killed her before the Curse began to wear off. I did not want her to realize what she had done…

By the time we made it back to the Manor, Astoria had packed what she could and ordered the elves to Hogwarts. She had been in contact with her sister in the north via Patronus. Father took Scorpius and went first, then Astoria and I, flying as fast as we could to Hogwarts. The Seal had been set here in the Ministry, and already, we could see the fires in the cities, the Inferi killing anyone, Muggle or Wizard who had somehow escaped the Holokauston."

Malfoy fell silent, his eyes distant again. Hermione glanced to Charlie whose jade green eyes were also distant.

"The culprit?" Hermione asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

"Weasley figured that it had to be someone familiar with Grindelwald, or Eastern Europe. We did not realize it was the Holokauston until McGonagall learned of the details of the attack.

We started to consult other survivors, those who had seen the curse in action and had somehow survived. There were not many. All spoke of those under the Imperius but none saw who was pulling the strings."

"As ridiculous as it might sound: it was not Regulus Black?" Charlie asked.

Malfoy shook his head, his pale blond hair falling over his chest. "To see my dead cousin was a shock, Weasley, but I doubt very much that he, whatever he is, is responsible."

Hermione bit her lip again, sucking blood from the crack in her lip. The fact that Regulus Black was somehow walking around was a mystery unto itself. If it was truly Regulus Black…

"We tried to reason a motive for everything. What would there be to gain in killing every living person in Britain? It was insanity. Even with the Dark Lord, he only wanted to subjugate Muggles. Compared to this, the Dark Lord was logical," Malfoy muttered darkly.

Hermione smirked. Malfoy was right, for once.

"Then Bones made a suggestion. Holocaust."

Hermione's smirk faded.

"Cleanse this country, for some purpose."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You cannot lift the Seal, Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes widened and turned to Hermione. "I can, and I will."

Charlie shifted to stand closer to Hermione. "She's right, Malfoy. If you lift the Seal, whatever or whoever is responsible will have free reign of the world…"

"And if I don't, we will all lose the ability to fight!"

Charlie said nothing more, and Hermione could understand why. It was a conundrum, simply because Ron's theory could be correct.

"Why would Regulus Black leave you alive, Malfoy?" Hermione asked again.

Malfoy said nothing, but stepped closer to the mirror.

"Wouldn't whoever is responsible for this want you to release the Seal?"

His pale hand moved to the mirror and Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Have you even considered it?"

"Get to Hogwarts, I'm sure you could be of more use there," Malfoy said with a sigh, ignoring Hermione's words "Besides, if I release the Seal, I doubt that being here would be safe."

Charlie's arm wrapped about Hermione's waist again and he pressed his mouth to Hermione's ear. "If what he says he true, Hermione, he will do what he thinks is right. We cannot stop him."

"Yes, we can!" Hermione snarled, pulling from Charlie's grasp again, moving about to the mirror to Malfoy's side. At her nearness, Malfoy blinked. Then a fist jabbed at his nose and he began to fall.

"Hermione!" Charlie gasped, rushing around the dais to catch Malfoy before he hit the floor. Malfoy was holding a broken nose, his eyes wide, staring up at Hermione. He fought his way from Charlie's assistance to stand again even as bright red blood oozed down his chin to his neck.

"I swear to Merlin," Malfoy said, but it came out different, strange, and Hermione, if the situation were not so dire, would have laughed. "You are crazy, Granger!"

Hermione's right hand stung from the punch, and she could feel Malfoy's blood trickling between her knuckles.

"I know I am, Malfoy, but if you do this, we might still have our magic, but we will lose any hope of stopping this here, now!"

Malfoy began searching his cloak and suit for his wand, but did not find it. He had lost it at some point, and Hermione had not seen it in the room. He did manage to produce a handkerchief from his coat pocket and used it to staunch the blood oozing from his nose.

"Unless you kill me, Granger, I  _am_ going to do this," he tried to snarl, but again his words were muddled, pinched.

Hermione's brows rose, and soon Malfoy was looking at the tip of her wand, pointed just between his eyes.

"Enough, Hermione!" Charlie roared, and with Seeker like quickness, he had moved from behind Malfoy to grasp her wrist, pushing her wand tip to point at the darkness overhead.

Hermione grimaced as Charlie's grasp crushed her wrist, malnourished bones, forcing her to drop her wand into Charlie's waiting hand.

"Good call, Weasley," Malfoy wheezed.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Charlie snapped to Malfoy, glancing over his shoulder.

Hermione stumbled back from Charlie when he released her, cradling her right wrist against her chest. Charlie frowned, slipping Hermione's wand next to his in his chest holster.

"I'm not going to stop you, Malfoy, but let us go. Give us time…" Charlie muttered, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

"Just get out," Malfoy tried to drawl, but his words were slurred, his voice wet with blood.

Charlie moved forward, grasping Hermione by the shoulders and began to steer her from the room. Hermione struggled free again when they came to the door. She turned to regard Malfoy coolly.

"You're no hero, Malfoy," she said softly.

Malfoy lowered the handkerchief from his crooked nose, and in the light reflecting off the mirror, he grinned, his teeth red from blood.

"Never wanted to be, Granger," he muttered with an eerie smile. Then to Charlie: "Better hurry, Weasley. I will give you ten minutes to get out of the Ministry…"

Charlie nodded and instead of pushing Hermione out the door, scooped her up in his arms, and began running for the lift.


	6. 6

6

Charlie Summoned 'Percy's broom' when he stood in the Atrium, and Hermione gasped as a Nimbus 2001 zipped through an empty lift shaft, over the top of the grate and into Charlie's hands.

Charlie knew that Percy kept a broom at the Ministry, hiding it from the girls after they frightened Audrey one day at their house in Islington. Charlie then wondered if Audrey, Molly, and Lucy were at Hogwarts.

He pulled Hermione onto the broom, noticing how she cradled her wrist, but knowing he did not have the time to apologize. Flying out of the Ministry would be a problem. However, a terrible rumble sounded from under the broom as Charlie wrapped his arms about Hermione's waist, mounting behind her.

"What is…" was all Hermione could say before the rumble turned into a loud whine.

Charlie kicked off the Atrium floor even as it began to shake. He felt Hermione scream as the Ministry began to quake and the floor cracked under them. He shouted for Hermione to hang on, but knew she could not hear him. Charlie moved his hands around Hermione to grasp the broom handle and soon they were flying along the long Atrium, pieces of stone beginning to fall from the roof.

Charlie gritted his teeth, trying to weave and climb, as the Ministry of Magic seemed to tear itself to pieces. There was no way out…

The telephone box that acted as a Visitor's Entrance was still standing in the Atrium and Charlie groaned as he pulled hard on the broom handle so that they climbed up, up, and into the narrow shaft.

Hermione was clutching the broom as well as they climbed toward a pinpoint of light high above.

"Charlie!" Hermione screamed, and Charlie realized that they would come up into the replacement box.

He would have to blast the box out of the way, but moving his hand to his holster would be difficult. Hermione, however, twisted against him even as they were beginning to slide off the broom, the Sticking Charm only working for a single rider.

Below them, fire was chasing them as the underground Ministry complex began to collapse.

"Reducto!" Hermione screamed, too frightened to incant silently.

The light of the spell blinded Charlie momentarily, Hermione had drawn her own wand from where he had slipped it next to his in chest holster, and suddenly, they were out, a piece of the telephone box hitting Hermione in the head, another hitting Charlie in the right shoulder. Hermione was still conscious, but the gash on her head was bleeding copious amounts of bright red.

Charlie did not stop, however, even as all of Savoy, parts of Covent Garden, Charing Cross, and everything along the Thames collapsed inward. A huge cloud of dust rose from the city as Charlie flew over Trafalgar Square. From above, the crater was filling with water, but Charlie could not tell that the Ministry had been under all the now destroyed Muggle buildings.

He flew around the column of dust and smoke, and came back to Trafalgar Square, which was, despite the haze of dust and smoke, untouched. St. Martin-in-the-Fields was also untouched although it stood on the edge of the carter. It was upon the porch of the church that Charlie landed.

The sky was overcast, but Charlie could tell that they had perhaps two hours before sunset. He dismounted first, and then gathering Hermione into his arms, kicked open the doors of the church to lay her on the nearest pew. Grabbing Percy's broom, he set it behind the door with the Nimbus 2000 he had taken from Bernie Cadwallader's.

Charlie began fortifying the doors, which seemed to take only seconds. Then he stumbled to Hermione who was lying on her side, watching him with sleepy eyes.

"Oh no you don't!" he growled, slapping Hermione's cheek to keep her awake.

"I know I have a concussion," she muttered as Charlie helped her sit up.

Charlie lit his wand, realizing that Hermione had her wand still held it tightly in her left hand. He knelt before her with a sigh and examined her wrist. He had broken it, and as soon as he realized this, he began incanting under his breath to heal the tiny bones in Hermione's wrist. The swelling went down, but the bruising remained.

Distantly, Charlie could hear more bricks and mortar fall into the crater. The terrible wrenching noises continued even as he began healing the gash on Hermione's scalp, stopping the bleeding and knitting the flesh back together. There was little he could do about the concussion, but at least Hermione was not bleeding.

"Your shoulder is bleeding," Hermione said, her healed right hand pointing to the tear in his traveling cloak.

It was then Charlie began to feel the pain. Looking as best he could, he could see a shard of glass from the telephone box impaled the back of his shoulder. He moved to pull the glass out, but Hermione moved first.

Wincing, Charlie allowed Hermione to heal him. Hermione dropped the glass to the church floor, adding more blood to the sanctuary.

"Thanks," he muttered as Hermione sat down in the pew before him.

Hermione stared at Charlie and he felt his face flush. He could not decipher her expression, but it was unnerving. Slowly, she turned her odd amber eyes away.

"The Seal is still in place."

Her voice echoed in the empty church and as Charlie moved to stand, he wondered how she knew.

Charlie suggested that they find something to eat, and Hermione followed him down into the Crypt café. He could see her hands shaking as she walked and that her legs wobbled. Surprisingly, Charlie was not so rattled. He produced a few cans of food and Charmed the underground room for light. They ate in silence.

He watched Hermione eat slowly, her mind obviously far away from London. Her silence was disconcerting. Hermione had dried blood down the side of her face and the collar of her shirt and vest was strained black. Charlie wanted to suggest that she clean up in the kitchen, but said nothing as he finished a Charm heated can of meat and drank stale tap water.

His thoughts turned to Malfoy's words. There were survivors at Hogwarts. However, Percy was dead, his father… Charlie felt his chest tighten and he rose and walked into the kitchen. Leaning back against a cold industrial size stove, Charlie let his face fall to his grubby, rough hands.

There were so many certainties and so many unknowns. Questions had plagued him for over two months. Why had this happened to him, to Hermione? Why had they survived? Who was responsible for this hell on earth?

Malfoy's words about the waning magic then drifted through Charlie's mind. Charlie was a Pure-blooded wizard, but he could not feel any difference in his magic. Besides feeling tired and traumatized, he felt the same as he had before the Seal was enacted. He had been running on adrenaline for two months and it was beginning to take its toll, on his body, not his magical ability.

The sound of movement made Charlie raise his face just as Hermione entered the kitchen, carrying a lit candle. He watched her move to the sink and turn on the tap, letting the candle rest on the metal draining board. She did not acknowledge him as she began stripping away her clothing, letting it fall to the floor next to her boots.

When he could see her skin, he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Even in the poor light, he could see the bruises on her prominent ribs, on her upper arm where he had pinched her. She peeled away a sweaty brassiere, the white silken fabric stained brown from months of sweat. If she was aware of him, Hermione did not show it. Instead, she leaned toward the sink, cupping her hands under the trickle of tap water.

Letting the water run down her chest, Charlie could see the swell of her breasts. Hermione Granger had large breasts that only seemed too large as the rest of her was starved. The water trickled over her ribs, dripping off erect nipples, and suddenly every thought Charlie had had was gone.

Pushing her long, matted hair over one shoulder, she scrubbed at her face and neck, washing away the blood and soot. As she washed her arms, Charlie's eyes ran along wiry muscle of her limbs, over half healed bruises and cuts. She was so small in his eyes, so fragile. Her back was perhaps where she truly looked starved. As she began pushing her combat trousers over bony hips, she turned her back to him. The bumps of her spine, the ripples of her ribs, it disturbed Charlie.

Even her legs were too skinny although hard muscle gave the limbs shape. Hermione had bruises on the backs of her thighs, on her knees, along her shins. She stepped out of her boots and then pushed away the last bit of clothing, exposing herself to Charlie's gaze. Charlie licked his lips, as the dark curls of her pubic hair were visible. Hermione went about her ablutions until the stench of death lessened and Charlie could smell her—feminine, living, and a faint scent of perhaps lavender or freesia.

Hermione began rinsing her hair, and finding a bottle of what Charlie supposed was dish detergent, she washed out more blood and dirt into the square bowl of the sink. In the candlelight, her now clean skin glowed white, even her long hair, as it was cleaned had a caramel sheen to it. Despite the degradation of her body, Hermione Granger was a beautiful woman.

She stood up straight, and turned to Charlie, her eyes dull. She stood among her filthy clothes as water ran from her hair, down her body. She said nothing as she bent down to pull her wand from her belt holster. Even as she walked past him, her damp feet slapping against the tile of the kitchen, she did not seem aware of him. When Hermione was out of sight, Charlie remembered to breathe.

His eyes moved down the front of his dusty jumper to his trousers. Charlie sighed loudly, and moved to the sink as well and began washing.

By the time he walked out of the kitchen in magically cleaned trousers, he carried Hermione's clothes, also Charmed clean, in a pile in his arms. Hermione was not in the café. Panic pounded through his head, and Charlie began running, barefoot, up the stairs to the church above.

Hermione's pack was still on the pew where he had deposited her, but the Muggle gun was gone. Charlie dropped her clothes on the pew and drew his wand from the back pocket of his trousers. The sun had set, but the distant wail of earth subsiding at the Ministry was still echoing through the city blocks. Charlie bounded up the narrow stairs of the bell tower, up the ladder to leap to the dusty floor below the bells.

The air was cooler in the bell tower, but not unbearable to Charlie who had left his jumper in the kitchen. Hermione stood just before the vent of the bell tower, her Muggle gun pointed out between the slats. She had Transfigured something to wear as a long white dress, like a night gown. Her hair was still damp, but was straighter, cleaner, and pulled up in a sloppy bun. She bent down to gaze through the scope of the rifle to the Square.

"The Inferi seem agitated, if that is possible," Hermione muttered, pulling back from the eyepiece to gaze with her own eyes between the slats. "I think the collapse of the Ministry may have rallied every Inferi to the area."

Charlie managed to control his breathing, and stepped to Hermione's side, avoiding knocking into the bells. He bent down to look out and southwest to the Square. Just as Hermione had said, there was a considerable number of Inferi—hundreds, and all were facing in the direction of the Ministry.

Hermione moved to slip her rifle strap over her shoulder, but winced as the weight settled. In the near dark, Charlie studied her face and the dark rings around her eyes that were no longer dulled. Charlie pulled Hermione's rifle away, causing her to open her mouth to protest. Shouldering the rifle, Charlie grasped Hermione's hand, gently.

He held her hand all the way down into the Church, down into the Crypt café and toward the far end where there was a low dais. From the Muggle equipment, Charlie figured that Muggles had played music in the café at some time. With the candles lit, Charlie could feel Hermione's eyes upon him as he began Transfiguring tables and tablecloths into a low pallet with mattress and blankets. Summoning the candles, Charlie placed them along the edge of the stage after Hermione had joined him in Transfiguring a few chairs into fluffy pillows.

Charlie held her, mindful that she had slipped her wand under her pillow. He lay on his right side, the shoulder still stiff from the glass, which had impaled the muscle, and with his left arm, pulled Hermione against him. They did not speak, but both were awake. Charlie wondered how long it would be before the shock wore off, or how long it would before the magic that made St. Martin-in-the-Fields safe would wane.

Hermione's small body moved against him and Charlie found her facing him, her eyes not looking into his face, but his bare chest. Pulling her hands up her body, she curled them under chin and then nuzzled closer to Charlie. Charlie shifted his arm so that it curled about her waist and then leaning his head forward, resting his chin upon the crown of her head.

Together, they shut their eyes, and found comfort in the nearness of one another.

* * *

Hermione had never done well on a broom, but she knew that if she were going to get to Hogwarts, she would have to strive to overcome her hesitation of flying. She could not remember the last time she had flown. Was it on an old Shooting Star at Hogwarts, or was it on Harry's Firebolt as a lark the last birthday he had had at Burrow when she felt she could come? She could not remember.

All the same, Hermione flew next to Charlie on his Nimbus 2000 while he rode Percy's 2001. It was morning, and still dust and smoke rose from where the Ministry of Magic had collapsed, killing Draco Malfoy, Hermione assumed. They circled it again as they had the day previous, and still the sheer size the crater astounded Hermione.

They flew north, and Hermione knew that Charlie was not flying as fast as he liked to suit her taste and meager talent. Charlie did not say a word as they flew, but stayed close by her. By midday, they flew over the remains of Leicester.

Hermione remembered waking in the dark, the only thing keeping her from panicking was Charlie's heartbeat under hear ear. Sometime in the night, she and Charlie had shifted so that her head rested just over his heart, her legs nearly straddling his right leg. Hermione felt awkward as she lit the candles and searched for her clothes as Charlie seemed to start snoring at her absence.

As soon as it was light, they started.

Hermione wondered if Charlie would hold her again. Sleeping with Viktor had brought her some measure of comfort, knowing that she was not alone. Sleeping next to Charlie, however, brought about that comfort, and more. She did not dream, she felt safe, safer than before it had all begun.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye to Charlie only to find his face grave. Hermione's eyes moved to the landscape before them, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. As they flew however, Hermione felt it.

Charlie's voice rang out, but it was lost on the wind. Hermione frowned as Charlie raised a hand. He was telling her to land, quickly. Hermione tilted the broom handle down, and began descending. They had been flying perhaps five hundred feet above the ground, perhaps higher, and when the front hit, Hermione was only a hundred feet above the ground.

Hermione considered it a 'front' like weather. The front was the absence of magic, as if the air was devoid of wind, or water devoid of flavour, ionized, odd. She was falling toward the ground, a field close to Leeds. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione found her wand.

The Charm she cast blasted from her wand tip and as if caught by a string, Hermione's body jerked to a near stop. On the ground below, Charlie was running. She saw him toss his broom to the ground even as her own broom smashed into the field below. When her feet touched grass, Hermione fell to her knees.

"Hermione!" Charlie's voice rang out, and soon Hermione was in his arms, his hands moving over her to check for injuries.

"I'm fine," she gasped, feeling as if her body were still falling.

Charlie held her at arm's length, studying her face.

"Your Charm worked?"

Hermione nodded.

"Don't do any more magic," he growled, not angry with her, but simply angry.

Hermione sat for a while in the high grass of some country field. Charlie moved to pick up her useless broom. Every enchantment on the broom was gone, just was all the magic that lay deep in the soil. Hermione closed her eyes, her head beginning to spin.

The pull of magic was moving faster, pulling north and away from them.

She felt sick, as if she had been sitting on a small boat in the middle of the North Sea, tossed, and battered on black waves. The absence of magic made everything change. The air was stale, the sky overcast, and the grass under her rough. With every breath, there was discomfort.

Hermione knew that by casting a spell, she had added a foreign element into the sterile environment, and it had drained her.

"Get up, we have to go," Charlie growled, grasping Hermione's arm and lifted her from the ground.

Hermione's eyes opened to Charlie's face. It was clear by the way he moved, he too was feeling the strain due to the absence of magic.

He pulled her along, abandoning the brooms. Hermione allowed Charlie to pull her toward the northern wall of the field, but her eyes moved to the sky. With it being overcast, it was hard to tell the time of day. As they passed through a low gap in the wall, Hermione began looking around.

There was no place to hide if Inferi were to find them, but then Hermione wondered if Inferi would be able to function in a place of an obvious lack of magic. They trudged through field after field for hours until they came to a paved road. Hermione figured that they were somewhere north of Nottingham, possibly north of Mansfield. Charlie pulled upon her hand as they jogged down the desolate road. Hermione did not protest as the light began to fail.

When darkness fell complete, along with cold rain, Charlie had dragged Hermione into a barn off a dirt track. There was not a house in sight and as Charlie finally released Hermione's hand, he slid the door closed. Rain pelted a tin roof high above, and Hermione lit her wand to survey the contents of the barn. Loose hay was stacked almost to the rafters, and near the door were empty stalls, seemingly for horses.

"Put the light out!" Charlie hissed, slapping Hermione's wand from her hand.

As soon as the spell was cancelled, Hermione felt her world spin. Unwittingly, she had used magic again. Charlie caught her before she fell, tremors taking her. Hermione's body contorted in something like a fit, and she gagged. Charlie laid her on the hay-strewn ground, rolling her to her side. She did not vomit.

Hermione felt as if the tremors would never stop, but when they did, she stared at a crack of light from under the closed barn door. She felt hollowed out, exhausted. Her hand stung from Charlie's slap, but she could not fault him his reaction. She allowed Charlie to pick her up in his arms, cradling her against his wide chest. Carrying her into the barn, he set her upon an old crate, sitting next to her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled, rocking her against him, feeling her face, brushing back her hair from her face.

Hermione licked her lips and raised a hand to touch Charlie's arm.

"Enough…" she whispered. "Enough, Charlie…"

Charlie slowly released her, and making sure she was able to sit on her own, rose and crossed the barn to pick up her wand.

Hermione grasped her wand weakly and slipped into her holster. She wanted to speak, but the energy it took to move her tongue and open her jaw was too much. All that mattered was that she could sleep.

Somehow, they would have to move faster, the vacuum of magic was oppressive. Hermione feared, however, that no matter where they went next, the absence of magic would remain.

Hermione tried to smile as Charlie moved about the dark barn, preparing a bed of hay. She tried again to speak as he helped her out of her pack and set the rifle aside. Charlie laid her down on the hay, using his traveling cloak to keep the hay from scratching their faces. The staccato beat of rain continued overhead as Charlie pulled Hermione close.

Hermione slept, not worrying about Inferi or any other darkness or danger. Charlie held her close, pressing an apologetic kiss into her brow.

* * *

Charlie felt the air change just outside of Tingley. It seemed as if the wind had returned, and with it, the stench of death. There was magic again, as there was a break in the weather and the sun shone on the earth.

He knew Hermione felt it too, but her condition did not improve much. Since losing the brooms, Hermione had used magic twice, resulting in lethargy and illness. He carried her on his back on and off since the barn north of Mansfield. It had made the travel slower, and what should have been only a day or less had turned into three days with Hermione on his back. Granted, she was light, but the oppressive lack of magic had slowed Charlie as well.

It was a strange sensation, the lack of magic. Charlie could not feel life, could not sense life. It was as if he were walking on the moon, or something comparable. Outside of Tingley, Charlie could feel the change. He could breathe properly; he could feel the substance of his body again. Even under his feet, there was a type of palpable hum. There was life, albeit small, but the earth was alive.

"Can you hear it?" Hermione rasped against his neck.

Hermione hanged to Charlie with weak limbs, her legs wrapped about his waist, her arms draped loosely about his neck.

"Hear what?" Charlie asked as he walked through a wide field toward a motorway ahead in the north.

Hermione shifted on Charlie's back and Charlie frowned as Hermione's small hand moved to form a cup behind his right ear. Charlie slowed to a stop, listening.

He heard a distant sparrow's call; he heard the wind, but nothing else.

"I don't…" he started.

"Listen deeper, under everything else," Hermione whispered.

Charlie listened, and listened.

"There's nothing," he grumbled and continued walking.

Charlie set Hermione down on the back of a lorry on the M62 as he moved to an automobile and opened the door. The bodies inside had decayed beyond the point of recognition, but Charlie paid little mind to the unmoving dead. Instead, he searched a pocket in the car door and found a road map.

Hermione had lain down in the back of the lorry, using Charlie's backpack as a pillow. Her eyes were closed and from where Charlie stood, it looked as if someone had punched her in either eye. In fact, as the sun warmed her, she looked as if she were dying. Hermione's skin was too pale, her face too gaunt.

Charlie knew he had to get her somewhere safe and see to her health. Unfolding the road map on the dusty hood of the car behind the lorry, Charlie's jade green eyes moved over the wrinkled printed paper. According to the map, if they travelled due east along the motorway, they would come to a junction with the M1. Following the line of the M1 north, they would pass outside of Leeds. If they continued along the M1, they could cross west to the A66 north of Richmond and follow the M6 to Carlise… Charlie's eyes memorized the route numbers leading north, to Hogwarts.

They would have to find the railway to Hogsmeade, Charlie was not sure if he would be able to locate Hogwarts any other way. Ron and Harry had flown Arthur's Ford Anglia to Hogwarts from London; surely, Charlie could find the railway.

"We need to go to Leeds."

Hermione's ragged voice startled Charlie and he spun around to look at her. Her eyes glowed in the sunlight, a terrible shade of gold that was offset by the dark rings around her eyes.

Charlie swallowed. "We cannot risk going into the city, luv…"

Hermione struggled to sit up, her legs dangling over the edge of the lorry's bed. In the sunlight, her loose hair fell about her shoulders in luxurious caramel waves. She glowed in the sunlight.

Dying people often had a glow about them, Charlie thought, and then wished he hadn't.

"It is coming from that way," she said, her eyes burning into Charlie's.

Charlie sighed, "What is?"

Hermione was delirious, Charlie believed.

"The music."

Charlie blinked. Music.

During his darkest hour, finding the Burrow burnt, his family gone, Charlie had heard a chord of music. It had unsettled him, and since then, he had not listened so keenly.

"You are ill, Hermione…" Charlie started, stepping toward her, his hand touching her knees.

"No, Charlie…" she uttered with conviction.

She raised a hand to cup Charlie's cheek as he looked up into her golden eyes. The touch of her hand was cold, too cold to be healthy.

"We have to go to Leeds."

Charlie caught her before she fell off the back of the lorry. Her hand had slipped from his cheek and her eyes had shut. Hermione's head fell against his chest as he hoisted her up in his arms. The wind caught the road map and blew it up into the blue sky as Charlie watched.

And upon the wind, he heard it for the first time since the Orchard—a distinct sound of several chords of music fitting together into a song.

* * *

Three days passed, and Hermione was vaguely aware of the passage of time. She was lying in a large bed, staring up at a beamed ceiling. Turning her head to the right, an exposed beam blocked her view of the window. To her left was the back of an open white door.

Hermione could hear Charlie moving beyond the room and smell what seemed to be soup, hot. Sitting up slowly, Hermione's view of the room improved and she found that she was sitting in what seemed to be Muggle hotel room. There was a flat screen television in a cupboard across the room, tasteful fake sprays of flowers on a coffee table before an expensive leather sofa set to the right side of the room. To the left was another door leading into a luxurious bathroom in white marble. What struck Hermione more than anything was the electric lit lamp by the bedside. It seemed impossible that the light be lit, and it seemed like a dream that electricity still existed.

She rolled onto her side, toward the light, a thin hand reaching for the bulb. The heat she felt was real enough. Hermione sighed and threw the duvet off her body only to shiver as the trapped body heat rose from the bed. When her bare feet hit the floor, she stood. She had her strength. Dressed in a white night dress that Charlie had Transfigured days before, Hermione crossed the room to the lavatory.

It took her a few moments to realize that the switch was working, and she flipped it so the lights over the sink blinked on. After so many years, she had grown accustomed to magical lighting, candles, or lamps that lit upon entering a room. Hermione went about relieving herself quickly, moving to the sink to wash her hands. In the mirror, she winced at her reflection. Her hair was a rat's nest of tangled waves, dulled by the fluorescent light.

Hermione's face was still gaunt, her skin ashen, but her eyes were bright. Even the bad lighting could not dampen the brilliance of her eyes.

She was still alive, somehow, and as she moved back into the bedroom, passing the open door, Hermione retrieved her wand and returned to the lavatory. Running the tap to fill the elegant porcelain tub, there was heat to the water. There even bath beads in fancy glass bottles on the edge of the tub.

Luxury, was the only word she could think of as she undressed and sank into the scented, steamy water. Muggle luxury was soothing. Hermione washed her hair, washed her skin, finding that the bruises on her limbs and hips were beginning to fade. She lay back in the tub and let the heat suffuse her body and bones, the ache of so much activity and exhaustion draining away.

Charlie was sitting in the room beyond the bedroom, a combination living area, and kitchenette. Hermione had found clean clothes in the closet, new clothes that still had tags hanging from them. She figured that in the days since coming to Leeds, Charlie had scavenged what he could. Hermione settled for a pair of too large jeans and green blouse that had the price listed as over three hundred pounds. Hermione had smirked before ripping the handwritten tag off. Three hundred pounds was far too much for a blouse that was barely a step up from a tee shirt.

Charlie sat on a leather sofa; a glass coffee table pulled near, but loaded down with pieces of newsprint, Magical and Muggle, as well as hand written notes in a sharp, slanting hand. He seemed to pour over the papers even as the soup on the stove in the kitchenette began to smoke slightly. Hermione moved to the kitchen feeling quite rejuvenated and took care of the soup. The still open can of tomato soup was resting by the stove.

"You look much better," Charlie commented from the living area, finally looking up to Hermione.

Hermione nodded as she salvaged what she could of the burnt soup, finding two bowls. As she carried the soup, with spoons, into the living area, she saw that Charlie too, looked better. He was not so pale, his body not so taut with anxiety. Dressed in new, clean clothes, he looked out of place in a Muggle room in Muggle clothes. Hermione sat down next to him, passing him the steaming bowl of soup.

Hermione glanced about the white sitting room. "Where are we?"

She knew they must be in Leeds, at the very least, but where in Leeds was the question.

"A hotel in the city centre, it's quite safe," Charlie added before spooning soup into his mouth.

Hermione withheld the rest of her questions in lieu of eating. Despite the slight scalding smell, the soup made her mouth water. They ate in silence, but both sets of eyes moved over the clippings and papers on the coffee table. Hermione could see that Charlie had constructed a rough timeline of events, using Muggle newspapers and notices, along with bits of the Prophet to outline why Britain was dead.

It seemed to start with an article from a Cornish newspaper. The village of The Lizard, on the southwestern tip of Britain reported sudden disappearances as early as February 1, 2010. By February 8, the town of Helston and Penzance were under a state of lockdown, the Lizard Peninsula blocked off by the military. Reports were sketchy in the Muggle press, but the Military, said one forgettable spokesman, 'had everything under control.'

Hermione's eyes moved to the next article from a newspaper in Exeter, dated February 10, claiming that the Military was moving to exterminate 'infected livestock' for fears that a new strain of 'foot-and-mouth disease.' However, this explanation did not suffice. Cornwall was 'quarantined,' as was the western half of Devon.

By February 18, there was no more news from southwest Britain. The next article was from the Prophet, dated February 15, an editorial consigned to a space buried between notices of sales in Diagon Alley, births and deaths. It was written by someone Hermione knew quite well. Luna Scamander nee Lovegood rarely wrote anything outside of her studies of flora and fauna, along with her husband. However, as Hermione read the editorial, her eyes narrowed.

'The first sign of an impending change in climate is the noticeable lack of animal life. In the past month, there has been a sudden disappearance of animals from their natural habitats, beginning in the southwest, and in the far north. What can this mean?

Magical or not, animals have simply begun to vanish. What is more shocking is that this winter has been harsher in the north than it has been in many years. Why are animals leaving the safe confines of their burrows, caves, and forests? As a naturalist, I have looked into food shortages, new predators introduced into the environment, anything to explain why creatures such as Thestrals, unicorns, hippogriffs, and some species of dragons, primarily the Hebrides Black, are suddenly gone from their habitats. Non-magical creatures, 'livestock' are also missing. This includes sheep, cows, oxen, and goats. Horses and household pets are also disappearing in great numbers. The bird population, however, has remained steady and in its normal parameters.

Recently, I consulted the herds of the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was unable to contact the Chieftain Magorian, but I was allowed to speak to his mate, a kindly centaur mare named Morgwena. When I asked about the missing creatures, I was told that the centaurs have foreseen a great cataclysm in the stars. In other words, impending disaster.

Speaking with centaurs is at times akin to speaking in riddles, but what I gathered from Morgwena, the centaurs were retreating further into the forests for safety. It seems that many magical creatures had followed suit, migrating to places they know instinctually to be safe. The Forbidden Forest's exact acreage is unknown, and it seems that a great deal of creatures, some of which live in the far reaches of the north and south, are moving into the Forest. Why?

We should pay heed to the movements of the creatures we protect and care for in our world. A great change is on the horizon, and by the feeling I got from the Forbidden Forest, it is not a change that will be weathered well by the unprepared.'

Hermione set her bowl down on the carpeted floor under the coffee table and leaned forward, her eyes moving to a handwritten piece of paper reading: 'February 20, 2010, Seal set?'

"I've been figuring in what Malfoy said," Charlie uttered softly, also setting his bowl on the floor under the coffee table. Hermione jumped at the sound of Charlie's voice, and then sighed, slipping to kneel between the sofa and the table. "And what we saw in the mirror."

Hermione nodded. "Regulus Black," she whispered.

"Yeah," Charlie sighed. "I only know what I have been told by mum and dad…but was there anything…?"

Hermione licked her nearly healed lips. "When we were searching for the Horcruxes…" she trailed, her eyes moving to Muggle notice of evacuation from London. It was the last printed piece of paper Charlie had managed to find.

"Regulus Black supposedly died when he was stealing Slytherin's locket. He was dragged down by Inferi and drowned…" Hermione said distantly, to herself.

Charlie seemed slightly befuddled, and Hermione retold what she had learned, not sure what Charlie actually knew. It seemed that with her words, Charlie's mind sparked and producing a ballpoint pen from a pocket, he began scribbling on the corner of one of his notes.

"I was told the basics. Did you ever find out where the cave was?"

Hermione shook her head. "All that mattered was that the locket was gone, and Harry had found Regulus' replacement. Dumbledore Apparated Harry to the cliffs, and took him down during a low tide into the cave entrance. It could be anywhere. Cornwall, maybe. Harry told me that Voldemort knew of the place because of trips the orphanage took to the seaside. I somehow doubt that an orphanage would take children as far from London as Cornwall, but I simply do not know."

Hermione wondered if the early reports of disappearances perhaps gave a location to the Horcrux cave.

"I still cannot figure out what was happening in the north. Of course, we haven't even crossed into Scotland yet…" Charlie muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "I can only assume so much…"

Hermione said nothing, but rose, gathering up the empty bowls of soup and walking to the kitchenette. The sheer curtains over the large windows in the sitting room were growing dark, and Hermione frowned.

"Why electricity here and no where else?"

"I don't know. Parts of Leeds are lit, other parts are not," Charlie answered, beginning to gather up his clippings and notes to place them in an orderly stack before Conjuring a band to bind them together and shrinking it with his ash wand. "I don't know anything about Muggle electricity," he conceded, leaning back into the sofa.

Hermione rinsed out the bowls and wiped her hands on a dishtowel she found lying in a heap next to the sink.

"Generators, maybe, or there is a power source that has not been affected by the loss of the Muggle population to run it…"

Hermione rubbed a hand over her mouth. With the Muggle population gone, who was taking care of things? The power plants, etc? Were they simply switched off or powered down? Would it be another danger she would have keep in her head during the rest of the journey to Hogwarts? Hermione sighed.

She moved from the kitchenette to the telephone near the room door and lifted the receiver. It was dead, like everything else outside. She then moved to the television in the bedroom and switched it on. Static and snow… Then to the alarm clock radio, flipping through channels of either silence or static, Hermione stopped for a moment as a strain of music came through the speakers. It was as if she were listening to music from inside a tin can, the sound so distant and faint.

"Heaven…I'm in heav—"

The radio hissed static again as Charlie appeared in the door. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Did you hear that?"

Charlie frowned. "Hear what?"

Hermione switched the radio off, sitting on the edge of the bed, her wide eyes moving to the floor.

"Nothing…" she whispered.


	7. 7

**7**

* * *

Charlie knew nothing about Muggle transportation. He knew of trains, of course, he had ridden trains since Hogwarts, but when it came to automobiles or motorbikes, he was lost. His father has been the one obsessed with Muggle cars, and Hagrid cared a great deal for Sirius Black's enchanted motorcycle, but Charlie could only stare at the motorbike, no, motorcycle, Hermione had found. They had spent three more days in the hotel in Leeds, talking little. Hermione seemed to regain a bit of healthy weight, and she no longer had dark circles under her golden eyes. In fact, she filled out her scavenged leather riding gear a little too much. Charlie could not look at the black leather trousers that covered her curves for too long.

"Ducati three-nine," Hermione had said, opening the gas tank as they stood in a sunlight car park an hour's walk from the hotel, she had found the keys in a valet office. "Six speed transmission, very fast," she said to Charlie. "Much better than a broom," she added with a smile.

"Oh?" he had asked.

"It stays on the ground, if you use it right," she said with a grin.

Charlie remembered sighing. They had found two helmets, and had all their gear shrunken into a pack on Charlie's back. Apparently, he was to ride on the back of the silver bike when they refueled the beast.

They were going to leave Leeds the next day, heading north along the M1. Before that however, Hermione was adamant that they find whatever they could to salvage and take with them.

Charlie could not understand Hermione's sudden burst of drive. For days, she was nearly comatose, having expended a great deal of magic, or, having it drained from her after casting north of Mansfield. Charlie had worried that she would never recover.

Hermione had sat down on the bike, feeling the grip handles, settling into the seat. Charlie had watched, disinterested, but listened to the lack of noise in the rest of the city.

By sunset, they were atop the tallest building in Leeds, Bridgewater Place. Hermione had hidden the bike in the looted lobby of the building, snickering about something she had read when the building was completed. "The Dalek," she sniggered. Charlie, again, did not understand, and did not bother to ask.

There was no electricity in Bridgewater Place, and when Charlie stepped onto the roof behind Hermione, he wished there had been. Thirty-two stories, perhaps was not many, but walking up a stairwell, Charlie could not keep thinking about trudging up to Divination Class, times seven.

The wind whipped Hermione's hair about her face, but she walked along the pebbled roof toward the rounded northern edge, her leather jacket zipped up to her chin, her rifle strapped across her back. Charlie knelt with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. However, as Hermione's boots hit against the metal-sided ledge, Charlie stood straight, eyes wide. Hermione stood with arms wide, the sun having set to her left, her face pointed to the north.

She stepped back from the edge, finally, and Charlie could breathe again.

Since waking, despite looking and seeming to feel much better, Hermione's behaviour troubled Charlie. Something had happened the night she awoke, but Charlie did not know what.

"Set up here for the night?" she said, having moved to his side, her eyes on his pack. The wind rose and fell, and Charlie had only managed to pick out the first part of her words.

Charlie shrugged out of the pack on his back, the wind seeping under the long black waterproof trench coat he had found, making the tails flap about his legs, the shoulders lift slightly. Hermione helped to pull out a few cans of food, Charmed to be light, and then the shrunken sleeping bags.

Hermione paused in resizing her sleeping bag with her wand, her head lifting.

When Hermione rose again, slipping her wand into her sleeve, Charlie huffed in frustration. He had not planned to sleep on a rooftop that was possibly not secure. The hotel had been a lark, an oddity. He was not sure why the Inferi did not seem interested in the building, but it was the safest place he found in such a large city. Now, atop Bridgewater Place, Charlie knew he should at least feel comforted on being outside. However, the screeches of the Inferi far below created a horrid hum around him.

Hermione moved to the northeast edge of the building, the sun set, the air growing cold. Charlie sighed and went to begin securing the roof access door lest there were Inferi in the building under their feet. Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Charlie saw that Hermione had raised her hands to her ears. Perhaps the haunting sound of the Inferi in the streets had caught her attention, but as he walked back to the pack and began unrolling the resized sleeping bags, he realized Hermione was not listening to the sound of the walking dead.

Her hands were cupped behind her ears, her face pointed to the sky. It was a striking pose to Charlie, her hair floating upon the updraft, her booted feet apart on the metal ledge with a dark sky before her. Charlie moved toward her, his own boots crunching in the pebbles.

She was humming.

"What is that?" Charlie asked, even as Hermione's hands lowered from her ears.

"Listen," she said softly, turning to him. Then she smiled, eerily. "Come up here and listen."

Charlie chuckled. "No, I'll listen from here…"

Hermione's face seemed to twitch, and suddenly, her hands had grabbed his. Charlie blinked as Hermione moved his hands to press behind his ears. Pulling away, Hermione mimicked the motion, standing just to Charlie's right.

"Now, listen," he head Hermione say.

He rolled his eyes, but gave it a try, anything to keep Hermione from edging any closer to the far fall to the plaza below. Charlie could not help but feel a bit worried about the woman.

With one last sigh, Charlie closed his eyes and began to listen.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and the white noise of rain miles to the northeast, it was the first thing he heard over his own heartbeat and the Inferi far below. He cleared his mind of those sounds, categorizing them as unimportant. Turning his head slightly, as if to adjust a wireless receiver, Charlie listened as he tuned into other sounds.

Wind over the distant fields beyond Leeds, past the hum of electricity albeit soft, geese flying…and then he heard it.

It was like a brief transmission of a wireless signal from somewhere far beyond Britain. If conditions were right, Charlie could sometimes pick up French wireless signals on the set in the Lodge. Wizarding wireless worked on magical current, but as there were vacuums of magic all over Britain, it would be almost impossible to hear anything on wireless now. However, that was what it sounded like, a weak wireless signal, playing old music.

"Heaven, I'm in heaven…"

Charlie's eyes opened to see that Hermione had lowered her hands from her ears and stood on the ledge, face pointed to the sky. She began humming the rest of the melody. Charlie did not recognize the tune, but he knew he had heard it before, somewhere.

"…when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek…" Hermione sang softly.

Charlie shivered. It must be a Muggle song.

Hermione turned to Charlie, a satisfied smirk on her lips. "You heard it, didn't you?"

Charlie swallowed thickly as the dark clouds blew over Leeds, the wind heavy with rain.

"Yes."

Hermione's smirk turned to a toothy grin. "Thank Merlin!" she whispered, and suddenly launched herself off the ledge into Charlie's arms.

Charlie grunted as they fell roughly into the pebbled roof, Hermione laughing, grasping his face between her hands. Charlie's jade green eyes widened as she laughed and peppered kisses over his face.

"I'm not mad, I'm not mad," she laughed, her body over his.

Charlie was still, shocked, even as her kisses became more and more urgent, moving closer to his mouth. When he did move, it was not to push her away. Rain was beginning to fall heavy upon them, but Charlie did not mind. Slowly, he was accepting her kisses.

When their lips met, Charlie closed his eyes. He could not remember the last time he had kissed someone. Hermione sighed into his mouth even as their kiss deepened. Charlie could taste canned fruit on her tongue as he dueled with his between their lips. She felt warm against him, and he wrapped his arms about her waist to hold her close.

Hermione Granger was not mad, for that matter, neither was he. He had heard the music, as if trying to tune into a wireless that lay miles away. The fact that he heard it so clearly stirred something in his blood, as if the music beckoned him to move. However, holding Hermione Granger was far more important. She was real and alive, and she was kissing him as if her very life depended upon it.

The rain was cold, and soon the kiss was over. Hermione mumbled something that sounded like an apology and crawled from his body, leaving Charlie staring up a dark sky. The spell was over and Charlie could not hear the music or Hermione's frantic heartbeat. Necessity had him rise, shivering in the cold rain as it soaked through his clothes.

By wand light, they moved to magically erect a small tent, waterproofed with no magical alternations. It was large enough for two people to sleep side by side, and that was how it was when Charlie lay down. Hermione was outside in the rain, casting several more spells to shelter the tent from wind. Charlie rolled onto his side, his face away from Hermione as she lay down.

She was still humming.

* * *

Hermione had learned to ride a motorcycle during a writing assignment for the Prophet not long after she was hired on part time. Her 'Technology' section dealt with magical innovation, usually in terms of how Magical and Muggle combined. The United States and Japan were the two countries leading the way to incorporate more Muggle technology. Being Muggle-born, Hermione found that Wizarding companies using Muggle technology to 'update' wizarding life was novel and ingenious. For years, Arthur Weasley was constantly experimenting, how he would have loved the small businesses and entrepreneurs Hermione met with in the States.

Her so-called guide in America was a young man named Gareth MacMurthy, another reporter interested in writing about the new surge of technology in the Twenty-First century. It was in upstate New York, beyond the notice of many Muggles that Hermione stayed for one month, working on her piece of the Prophet.

Besides hiking in the Adirondacks with Gareth and his sister, Gail, Hermione was taught how to ride a motorcycle on the winding forest roads. It was to break up the boring lulls between appointments touring through workshops and conducting interviews. Hermione had always hated flying, not because of the heights or the speed, but because she could not trust a narrow piece of ash or oak and some tail twigs to keep her from plummeting to the ground. Motorcycles could move just as fast, but kept on the ground.

Starting as a passenger behind Gail MacMurthy, Hermione became accustomed to the rumble of a gas-powered engine and the shifting of gears. The MacMurthys like herself, were Muggle-born, which added to the pleasant visit and the work involved. There was really no discrimination between Muggle-born and Pure-blood in the States, and Hermione was allowed to forget for that month. By the end of the assignment, Hermione had a great article, an idea for a book, and could add a few things to her skill set. Riding a motorcycle, fishing, basic orienteering, and how to use a Muggle firearm, were the major new experiences.

Hermione wondered if the MacMurthys had forgotten about her now that Britain was now Sealed. She pushed those thoughts aside as Charlie's arms tightened about her waist.

The high-pitched sound of shifting gears under her, made Hermione realize that she was finally riding a motorcycle that Gail MacMurthy had mentioned was one of the better bikes for speed and maneuverability. If only Hermione could show her American friends, how well she was handling such a powerful bike. At least she had not killed herself yet, let alone Charlie Weasley clinging to her, his helmeted head watching over Hermione's shoulder as they got onto the congested M1, weaving around cars and bodies.

They were leaving Leeds, finally. Hermione felt better than she had in months, her bones no longer aching, and her muscles no longer strained. She had become muscle, hard and lean, but still, Hermione preferred to have a little more healthy weight about her body. Perhaps the next time she scavenged, she would look for Muggle vitamins, something to supplement what her body was lacking.

Charlie's arms tightened about Hermione as she slowed the bike to weave between a narrow pass between cars, now heading north. Charlie had said near to nothing since the morning's greeting. Hermione, in turn, only said what she needed to Charlie, how to ride properly behind her, how to lean into a curve with her, not to make any wild movements, etc. So far, Charlie obeyed. In many ways, it was like riding a broom, the only difference being that one could feel the horsepower under them with a motorcycle.

It was early, the sun just having risen in the east. Hermione could feel the warmth of the sun on her black leather jacket. Soon, the days would grow warmer and the stench of death double. Hermione dreaded the summer.

Past Aberford, the motorway was almost empty. There had been a pileup at some point somewhere outside Brown Moor. Only a few abandoned cars were left. Hermione sped up, feeling Charlie tense behind her; so far, he had said nothing. Hermione bit her lips behind the tinted visor of her helmet, and when the turn off came for the A64, Hermione took it.

Charlie seemed to shout something, but Hermione ignored his voice and the tightening of his strong arms about her ribs.

York.

York was northeast from Leeds, from Bridgewater Place, and it was somewhere in or around York Hermione knew she had to go.

She had heard the music clearly for the first time, the voice singing, and the melody. 'Cheek to cheek,' written by Irving Berlin, had been a favourite of her father's. She had not heard the song for a long time, had not had a sudden recollection of the melody, but Hermione knew it and every word by heart.

It haunted her. It made her feel as if she were truly insane. Of all the music in the world, why that song?

The A64 was desolate, as was the countryside on either side of the road. The sun shone down hotly, and the rain that had passed over the night was beginning to quickly evaporate. Hermione gunned the engine as they passed Islington and kept pushing the bike past the signs for Steeton Grange.

Time was flying, and as Hermione sped over the pavement toward York, a large pillar of black smoke came into view on the horizon. It was as the A1237 roundabout intersecting with the A64 for that Hermione had to put on the brakes hard, spinning the bike slightly, Hermione's booted foot skidding on the pavement. With Charlie's added weight, stopping the bike was harder than Hermione thought, but it did stop, Charlie jumping off, jerking off his helmet, his face angry.

There was no way to continue along the main road. Hermione stared through her visor at the pilled cars, a barricade, very much like the ones she had come across in Brighton. Over the pile of cars, Hermione could see the pillar of smoke was closer.

"What the hell are you playing at, Hermione?" Charlie had shouted over the sound of the engine, throwing down his helmet on the road.

Hermione ignored Charlie, her eyes moving over the cars, some intact, others burnt, but no corpses. She tried to remember where she had stopped noticing the bodies. It was outside of Leeds, surely, before she pulled onto the A64.

Hermione killed the motor and kicked out the stand to balance the bike on the road. Dismounting, she could see the black tire mark on the drying road. Charlie was shouting at her, but Hermione could not hear it. Instead, she moved closer to the barricade, not bothering to remove her helmet.

Peeking through a crushed window to the other side, she could see more cars along the road, pushed against the barricade for as far as she could see. Hermione frowned, turning back to the bike.

"Why are we here? We need to head north!"

Hermione pulled off her helmet, her hair falling about her shoulders over the leather jacket. Placing the helmet on the bike, she moved to Charlie.

"Cast the Charm," was all she said as Charlie's face contorted. The tails of his trench coat were damp from road spray and the pack on his back was also damp. He did not question as he pulled his wand from the holster hidden under the coat.

However, he did not cast the Charm to point out life, instead, he stared hard into Hermione's eyes.

"I heard the music, but don't expect me to understand what it means."

Hermione sighed. "Viktor had a theory."

"Do tell?" Charlie growled.

Hermione stepped closer to Charlie, moving to stand just behind his left shoulder.

"Magic calls to magic. Last night, we  _both_  heard it coming from the northeast. We are northeast of Leeds…"

Charlie sighed. "You think someone is here?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. "You know smoke does not mean life, luv…" he trailed, his jade green eyes moving to the top of the barricade to the plume of smoke.

Hermione said nothing, but waited, watching Charlie's motions as he began casting. When the wave of magic went out, Hermione held her breath.

Charlie's body straightened. "Less than two miles to the northeast, very faint."

Hermione inhaled. "Let's go."

* * *

Charlie helped Hermione move the motorcycle off the road before walking north and into a field. The barricade, Charlie thought, was a sign, but it was hard to say when someone had moved the vehicles to bar the way along the loop about York. When they cut back onto the road about a mile along, the road was empty, seemingly every vehicle used to barricade the intersection for two major roads.

Hermione walked ahead of Charlie, anxious as her face was pointed to the ever-larger plume of black smoke that was blowing off to the east. They came upon Copmanthorpe as the sun was highest in the sky. It was as Hermione began deviating off the A64 into Copmanthorpe that Charlie could smell the death in the air.

The fire, the source was coming from a large field in the south, just outside the town, and that was where they went, jumping low rock walls toward the black smoke. As they approached, Charlie could tell that the fire was large, the wind shifting so that the smoke obscured the sun.

Charlie moved a hand over his face, as the smell grew increasingly worse. Hermione, however, began running toward the sight of smoke and flame.

"Here!" she called back to Charlie as she leapt lithely over another low wall, stopping short before running further.

Charlie began to jog, his wand in his hand as he neared the wall. Beyond was a pile of black fuel to a high fire, producing the billowing smoke. Charlie's eyes narrowed in the shadow of smoke to see what the fuel was…

Bodies, perhaps hundreds of bodies were burning.

"Sir? Sir, are you alright?" Hermione's voice rang out over the roar of fire.

Charlie turned back to the wall to see Hermione kneeling before a figure seated on a rock. Charlie could not tell if the figure was male or female, and except wide jaundiced blue eyes staring at Hermione's face then the rifle strapped to her back, Charlie would not believe that figure was alive.

An ancient voice rumbled from the slumped figure, and Charlie recognized German, Austrian German.

"No, sir, I am not a ghost. I am a witch, and my companion is a wizard," Hermione explained, her hands moving to grasp blackened, gnarled hands clutching a cracked wand.

The man was black with soot and ash, his long hair matted with it, his skin and clothes stained black.

At Hermione's words, the man seemed to straighten and Charlie could see that under the soot, the man wore what was once an impeccable three-piece suit. He was a wizard, but would only speak German.

Dead, all dead, he had said.

"Sir, do you speak English at all?" Hermione asked.

The ash seemed to blow off his long hair as he nodded.

"Who are you?" he asked, his English perfect, with no audible German accent. In fact, if Charlie had to guess, the man spoke with a Yorkshire accent, but clearer since English was not his first language.

"Sir, could we get you something first, or get you away from the smoke?" Hermione asked kindly, grasping the man's arthritic wrists as she knelt before him.

"No… I cannot leave this, I must tend the fire and see that everything burns."

Hermione glanced to Charlie, her eyes wide. Charlie shifted on his feet, and then cast a spell, hoping that a magical breeze would blow the smoke away from where they were.

"Water, perhaps?"

The man shook his head, his breaths coming out laboured. Charlie wondered if the man had inhaled too much smoke.

"Who are you?" the man asked again.

Hermione sighed as the smoke shifted so that sunlight peeked through the haze of heat and smoke, lighting her face.

"I am Hermione Granger, my companion is Charlie Weasley."

The man coughed, but through the strain, Charlie caught two words. War heroes.

Hermione said nothing.

"I am Hans Klemper," the old man wheezed. "How is that you came here?"

Hermione again, said nothing. Charlie, however, stepped forward.

"Sir, that is what we would like to ask you. How is it that you survived? Why aren't you at Hogwarts with the others?"

Klemper's eyes moved to Charlie and under the black soot that coated the old man's face, Charlie thought he smiled.

"I don't know why I survived the Holokauston… Hogwarts? Hogwarts should be gone, like everything else here…"

Charlie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Hermione stood as Charlie asked his question, turning back to the fire.

"It should be gone by now, Hogwarts," Klemper repeated. "They said they were moving there a week ago…"

Charlie covered his nose again as a hot breeze laden with burning bone and flesh wafted over the ground. Klemper did not seem bothered by the smell.

"They?" Hermione asked.

Charlie watched Klemper seem to sigh.

"The man and the boy, the ones responsible for this hell on earth."

Hermione whirled back to Klemper, her wand drawn. At the sight of her wand, Klemper rose suddenly, his cracked wood wand shaking in his hand.

"Tell us!" Hermione demanded.

"Hermione, stop!" Charlie shouted, moving to place himself between the suddenly angry woman and the old man.

Klemper calmed as Hermione lowered her wand, settling down on the rock again. As he did so, more soot fell from his hair.

"Why are you burning these bodies? Why are you here?" Hermione shouted around Charlie.

Charlie could not understand Hermione's anger, but as one burnt corpse rolled from the pile, he was beginning to understand.

"Klemper, Hans Klemper, I know your name!" Hermione shouted.

Charlie turned to the old man. The name meant nothing to him. Hermione seemed to calm, sensing Charlie's confusion.

"One of Grindelwald's men, an Exterminator…" Hermione hissed for Charlie's benefit. "Hans Klemper has killed thousands in the name of the 'greater good!'"

Turning back to the old man, seeing the defeat in his slumping shoulders, told Charlie much. Hermione was always the 'brains' of the so-called 'Golden Trio,' Charlie knew, it was only natural that she knew her history.

"That was a lifetime ago, Miss Granger. I am not proud of it, and have paid dearly for the mistakes of my youth," Klemper wheezed.

"Of course you knew it was the Holokauston…" Hermione muttered, stepping around Charlie. Charlie kept his eyes upon Hermione, and could move before she could do something foolish if he needed to.

Klemper nodded. "To see it again… It was too much…" the old man whispered.

"Why burn the bodies?"

Klemper's blue eyes blinked. "I would think that it would be easy to understand, Miss Granger."

Hermione frowned.

"So they won't rise again," Klemper continued. "The dark man had raised many while I watched…"

Charlie coughed as the stench of burnt flesh wafted by him again. Hermione seemed unperturbed by the scent.

"Tell me. Everything."

Klemper sighed, as he did, soot blew from his blackened lips.

"My niece… I have been living with my niece in York since the 1960s. I was given a new life after '45, after the trials, after being imprisoned in Nuremgard. I was released in '59, and moved to Britain to be with my only family, my niece Ilka.

Then in February, it started. A witch was moving about Yorkshire, killing everything. It was a young woman, I did not know who she was, but I knew the Curse. I could never forget the cloud of black and the death it caused. Ilka died, her whole family, died, except me.

We lived in Heslington and everywhere I went, everyone was dead. Then the monsters came, like a plague of locusts, searching for anything alive. I hid, I ran. Then two weeks ago, just in the town past here, I saw them."

Hermione listened silently, her hands shaking. Charlie watched as tears spilled down Klemper's blackened cheeks, leaving clean white tracks in their wake.

"A man was raising the dead to add to his army of undead. The weather here has kept many of the dead from rotting much, and when they rose, they were his…"

"Black," Hermione muttered, but Klemper continued.

"I followed them to the road. The monsters only followed him, did not look for me, did not look for life. Then in the dark, a boy approached, and the monsters did not attack. I was afraid; I had not seen anyone alive since the beginning.

The boy was not hurt. The man bowed down at the boy's feet, but I could not get close enough to hear much. I could see the boy's face, but I knew it was a boy by the voice.

The man called the boy 'Master.'"

Charlie's insides seemed to lurch. He could not think properly, could not form a conclusion.

"Then they spoke about Hogwarts and the protections. I only heard part of their words. A seal and a secret."

Klemper shook his head, his eyes widening.

"Kill everything, the boy had said, except those who would be useful, and then they parted. The boy went north, the man and his monsters went south. I hid for a long time, afraid.

I made the barricade on the road in case they returned…but I was not thinking clearly. What did it matter if I blocked the road? Then I took the bodies, all that I could find…" he trailed.

Hermione licked her lips and then spat on the ground, her saliva blackened. She glanced to Charlie with a frown, knowing that they both were breathing in the soot and ash of human bodies.

"It was like the old days, burning the bodies left after Herr Grindelwald's spell. It makes me sick, but…" Klemper trailed again, unable to continue.

Hermione turned back to the pyre, her golden eyes moving from the bottom to the top. The pile was at least thirty feet high. Charlie felt his stomach twist.

"How did you come here?" Klemper asked.

"Motor bike," Charlie answered. "On foot and by broom before that."

"Broom?" Klemper asked. "You had a broom?"

Charlie nodded. "South of here, we lost them. There was a wide area where there was no magic…"

"Yes!" Klemper exclaimed suddenly. "It was here too! Several days ago!"

Charlie narrowed his eyes as Klemper continued.

"I felt it coming, and I tried not to use my wand. But I did one night, and it cracked. It was foolish, and I nearly died, but then the next morning…

How did you know to come here? Did you see the smoke?"

Charlie sighed, glancing to Hermione who was watching the fire as ashy remains of Muggles began to collapse, sending more ash into the air.

"We were in Leeds…" Charlie started.

"It was the music," Hermione said dully, not turning back to Klemper.

Klemper said something in German, a swear, Charlie thought, and then began laughing, though it soon turned into a cough.

"The music, yes, that infernal music…"

Hermione turned back to Klemper slowly; her eyes keen as they settled on the old man's face.

"Irving Berlin. Herr Grindelwald had no interest in Jews, but Herr Hitler did. I wonder who was more insane, Hitler or Grindelwald?

Yes, I have heard it."

Hermione brushed ash from her face, "When?"

Klemper grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "This morning, before that, when I saw the man and the boy. There were other times, only for an instant, sometimes strong, sometimes like a whisper. The loudest was after the boy went north, trailing after him. It frightened me."

Charlie closed his eyes. Perhaps they were all insane, but it was not a coincidence that three magical people had heard the music. It was odd, insane even, and just as Klemper had said, frightening.

"'Cheek to cheek' does it mean anything to you at all?" Hermione asked.

Klemper shook his head. "Muggle music. My mother was a Muggle; she liked American music, but not Berlin… She died in '45, like so many of us…"

Hermione sighed, and began walking toward the wall between the fields. Charlie blinked as she continued on, leaving him and Klemper behind.

"Where will you go, boy?" Klemper asked, his eyes shut at Hermione's departure.

Charlie wiped soot from his nose and answered slowly. "Hogwarts."

Klemper laughed. "It is gone, surely, and we will all die when this is over. Holocaust, it is a fitting word, but perhaps Armageddon is better. Albion is the battleground, where many battles have been fought, a true 'Har Megiddo.'"

Charlie was not sure what 'Har Megiddo' was, but he could not deny that the 'end of times' had come for Britain.

"Come with us, Herr Klemper," Charlie said in German causing the old man to open his eyes.

"No, my boy. I have found my ninth circle of hell, and here I shall stay till the end of time."

* * *

Hermione could not stop her tears, and by the time Charlie caught up to her, she cast a cleansing Charm over her body to rid herself of the ashes of human bodies. Charlie ran to come to stand before her, his own face streaked with soot.

It had been months since she cried, and she was not exactly sure why she was doing it again. She swallowed the last of her tears just as Charlie's hand rose to touch her face.

"It was a mistake to come here," Hermione muttered, pushing past Charlie, walking along the road back to the barricade.

She was not sure why she had said this statement when Hermione had learned more about the mystery surrounding her current situation. Charlie was talking to her, but she would not listen, not until she was on the bike and far away from the lingering smell of smoke.

The sun had moved toward setting by the time Hermione wheeled the motorcycle back onto the road, only pausing before kick starting the vehicle to let Charlie on the back. He had finally stopped talking, and Hermione sighed, adjusting her helmet before the roar of the engine drowned out every sound in her head.


	8. 8

**8**

Hermione cursed as she pulled the motorcycle off the A66 bypass and into the small village of Bowes. The engine sputtered and finally died as the bike rolled up to the only pub in town. Kicking the stand down, Hermione felt Charlie stiffly dismount, pulling off his helmet, looking to the sky.

The sun was setting and already the screeches of the undead could be heard from the fields. The Ducati 'three-nine' was loud, and the sound aroused the Inferi before the sun set. Hermione groaned as she tore her helmet from her head. There was no time to think to look for fuel. The 'three-nine' could outstrip an Inferi, but it had to have petrol first.

"Here's as good a place as any," Hermione muttered darkly, her eyes turning to the stone faced pub called 'The Ancient Unicorn.'

* * *

Charlie was reading the brochures about Bowes, the Bowes castle, the Bowes Museum, even the pub the Ancient Unicorn touting that it was haunted. As far as Charlie could tell, there were no ghosts, but there was something peculiar about Bowes and the inn above the pub. Glancing out the window onto the main street, he could not see any Inferi, but he could hear them beyond the reaches of the village.

Hermione was in the small lavatory, washing in the dark, as there was no electricity. When she emerged from the dark, it was to find her dressed in a set of clean clothes, some that Charlie had scavenged in Leeds before Hermione was well enough to move. Her hair was damp, but up in a bun, and the soot that darkened her face was gone.

"I'll use the scope," she said, moving to the rifle leaning by the door. "Wash up, you look almost as bad as Klemper did," she muttered coldly.

Charlie sighed and shrugged, moving to the double bed and pulling out a set of clean clothes from the knapsack. He paused as Hermione moved to open the sash, kneeling on the floor to rest the barrel of the rifle on the sill. Charlie slipped into the small lavatory, spelling his wand for light.

In the mirror over the sink, he saw a stranger's face. Ash and soot nearly made his cropped hair black, and the black seemed to cling to his eyebrows and under his nose. Turning on the tap, Charlie had to wait for water, the pressure poor. While waiting, he stripped out of his soiled clothing, finding a clean flannel in a rack over the toilet. When the water did come, it was brackish and stale. Charlie sighed and did the best he could, cleansing Charms would surely wash off the body odour and soot.

Charlie suddenly missed Muggle electricity.

Hermione was peering through the scope of the rifle when Charlie returned to the room in a pair of sweat pants and white tee shirt. The air coming through the window was unusually cold, and Charlie wondered if Hermione were cold. He sat on the side of the bed, watching Hermione in the near dark of the room.

"Nothing unusual, except they will not enter the high street," Hermione mumbled.

"Is it the town?"

Hermione pulled her face away from the scope and shifted on the floor to look up into Charlie's face. "I don't know," she whispered. "I cannot feel anything special about this place, not like the others…" she trailed, her golden eyes growing distant.

Slowly Hermione withdrew the rifle from the sill and closed the sash. Propping the gun against the wall, she moved to lean against the sill.

"I did not feel anything special about Leeds either," she said quietly, bending her knees up against her chest. "No hum of magic under us or around us, nothing that indicated there was earth magic at all."

Charlie said nothing, he had no idea why the hotel in Leeds was safe, it simply was, and he did not question it.

"Even outside of York, I didn't really feel anything except Klemper," Hermione continued. "It was his magic I felt, but nothing in the earth."

"How do you feel it?" Charlie finally ventured, having been quite curious for some time.

Hermione shrugged. "It's like the music, a reaction, I suppose, from the latent magic of the earth itself resonating with our magic. By why that song, the melody… I don't know.

Of course, when I was traveling from Glastonbury, I had to stop in places where I did not feel the earth's magic. I slept on rooftops or barricaded myself in buildings, making no noise. But there were other places, I was compelled to go…sanctuaries of a sort. Sometimes churches, sometimes other places. Some places had more than one spot where the Inferi would not go…"

Charlie listened to Hermione's half formed speculations, telling him about Brighton and other places along the way. He then added his own sanctuaries, Shrewsbury, for one.

"Sacred places, places of immense power, ancient focal points lost to time."

Charlie had nothing to add to that thought. He could neither agree nor disagree. He could not deny that he had felt compulsions to go certain places to hide.

"Then there is the lack of Inferi in certain regions," Hermione added. "Brighton was thick with them, but London, or at least Whitehall and Charing Cross were not so concentrated. Even Leeds…"

Again, Hermione trailed, hugging her legs tighter to her chest.

"What if they are being commanded not to bother with us?"

Charlie blinked. "Why would that be? Who knows who is alive and who is dead?"

Hermione sighed dejectedly glancing out the dark windowpane. "It was a thought, a dreadful one, at that. Then again, we are so in the dark about what brought about our current situation.

If Klemper's words a true, there are more dreadful things to consider."

"A child?"

Hermione nodded. "Klemper may be mad, but not as mad as that. He must have seen Black and his army of undead meeting with the true puppet master. But a boy?" Hermione shook her head. "I only wish Klemper  _were_  so barking mad…"

Charlie sighed and lifted his bare feet from the floor to sit Indian style on the edge of the bed. His feet were cold, and he dearly wished he had a pair of his mum's knit wool socks. The thought of his mother made Charlie clench his teeth. He hated himself for not thinking to take the brooms, no matter that there was no magic to use them. If they had the brooms, they would be in the highlands in hours and not days or weeks.

"How would a child know anything about the Holokauston Curse, Regulus Black, or any of it?" Hermione mused to herself, biting her thumbnail of her left hand in thought.

"We don't know enough, Hermione. As you said, Klemper was half mad, he could have been mistaken…"

Hermione clicked her fingernail against her teeth and met Charlie's eyes. "True, but it is something to consider.

We need to get to Hogwarts and now. At first light, I'll find some petrol, somewhere…and some tanks to spare that we can lash to the back of the bike. If we have to have a horde of Inferi chasing after us during the night, so be it," she stated resolutely.

* * *

Hermione lay in the double bed, staring out the window to her right as the sky began to lighten. Charlie, despite her insistence, slept in a sleeping bag on the floor between the bed and the door. He had slept on the pullout sofa in the hotel in Leeds, and Hermione felt odd having him so distant, in body and mind. The night in London, after Malfoy destroyed the Ministry, had been the last time they shared a real bed. Charlie was not Viktor, and Hermione wondered if Charlie would forgive her for kissing him.

Hermione sighed softly, throwing an arm over her head. She could not sleep. Her mind would not shut down, but that was never anything unusual for her. Hermione had once taken medication prescribed by a Muggle doctor to make her sleep. She knew it was borderline addicting, but she took the pills every night just to make the gears in her brain stop.

Mania was what the doctor called it. Being manic had Hermione trying to figure out the mysteries of the universe all night long when her body needed to rest. Exhaustion had made her sleep since February; the stress and strain on her body forced her brain to shut down. No matter the danger, Hermione could sleep dreamlessly.

Now, however, Hermione was too troubled by what she had seen in Copmanthorpe. She could still smell the burning bodies, half rotten. She could still see Klemper's soot stained body, and hear his wheezing voice, his lungs filled with ash of human bodies. Another survivor, one that was nearly mad. When Hermione thought about it during the dark hours, Viktor Krum was also nearly mad. Any sane person would leave imminent danger, try to find the cause of their situation, remedy it, and move on. Klemper would not leave the pyre; Viktor would not leave his dead wife. Draco Malfoy was not mad, but then again, it was always hard to tell about anyone descended from the 'Noble House of Black.'

Was she sane, after all? And Charlie?

Hermione had heard the music, and that had nearly been enough to make her believe she was mad. And she knew that convincing Charlie the music was real made her appear mad. She wondered if Charlie thought she was mad, still.

Glancing out the window again, a pinkish sky greeted her, and she rose slowly. Slipping her wand into the sleeve of her shirt, she padded over to the window, craning her head to look down the street to where she had seen the Inferi only hours before. A few lingered as grey light was replaced by sunlight coming from the eastern horizon.

Hermione rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, suddenly feeling hungry. Turning from the window, she found Charlie's knapsack near his head. Hermione knelt down to feel for the shrunken tins of food, but paused to look at Charlie's sleeping face. His mouth was slightly open as he lay on his right side, his right arm cushioned under his head. He snored during the night, but it was nothing compared to his younger brother's raucous nighttime operatic rale. In fact, Charlie's snore had been soft, more like a deep inhale, not loud and not grating. Hermione smirked as she withdrew a can of pineapple chunks in sweet syrup and a small can of ham. Charlie shifted as the sound of the buckles on the knapsack clinking, and he licked his lips.

Hermione balanced on the balls of her feet, watching him. He did not look like he was thirty-eight. He looked just as Hermione remembered when she first met him. The only difference was the hair. When Hermione first met Charlie, his crimson hair had been shaggier, now it was cut close. He was just as substantial as she remembered, his face, even angry, still handsome.

When Charlie shifted again, Hermione rose. She would have to thank Charlie at some point; he had saved her, over and over again.

Hermione opened the tins with her wand, after resizing them, and began eating, leaning into the side of the bed, watching the sky brighten. When it was sufficiently light out, Hermione donned her boots and her waist-length leather jacket and quietly left Charlie to continue sleeping.

Approximately two hours later, at about eight in the morning, Hermione was lashing two petrol tanks to the back of the bike when the window overhead opened and Charlie peered out.

"You crazy witch!" he shouted.

Hermione ignored him.

"I thought you left me here alone!"

Hermione finished, using her wand to add an extra sticking Charm to keep the small portable tanks in place. Slipping her wand into the holster on her belt, she glanced up at Charlie who was shirtless and scowling.

"Eat up, Weasley, we leave in twenty minutes," she called, causing Charlie to mutter a curse and slam the sash down with a clatter.

Hermione grinned to herself.

* * *

Farmland and villages whizzed by as the A66 switched back and forth from a narrow two-lane to wide four-lane roadway. Before midday, they had crossed the River Eden and got onto the M6 near Pategill. Charlie held fast to Hermione, surprised at the lack of abandoned or stopped cars. The clear roadway had Hermione pushing the motorcycle upwards of ninety miles per hour. It worried Charlie.

He said nothing through the visor of his helmet, the tail of his coat flapping violently behind him. Hermione seemed to handle the motorcycle as well as Charlie did a broom. Besides the fear that Hermione might lose control of the monstrous bike, Charlie was exhilarated by the speed and precision. If times were better, Charlie wondered if Hermione would show him how to drive the bike.

They stopped past midday to eat and stretch, but the reprieve lasted only ten minutes before Hermione was slipping her helmet on again. The empty M6 let them roar along the countryside unimpeded, and by the time Hermione had to refuel the bike, they were at the junction of the A69.

They did not speak as Hermione lashed the empty tank to the back of the bike again, zipping her jacket up to her throat as the day turned colder despite the glorious sunlight. The sunlight almost made Charlie believe that their world was normal, but the lack of life and the emptiness brought everything back to focus.

By sundown, they had passed into Scotland, the M6 becoming the M74. Charlie still did not understand the numbering of the motorways. He nearly shouted to Hermione as the darkness fell around them, the headlight on the motorcycle coming on to light the motorway ahead of them. Charlie had thought that Hermione would stop in a village somewhere for the night, but she seemed to have other ideas.

Charlie was wary, and tried to glance behind to see if Inferi were chasing behind in the distance, but there was nothing more than the muted glow of the taillight trying to shine through the tanks Hermione had lashed to the back. The engine roared as they sped through the dark, and it seemed like time flew by as fast as the countryside. The sound and the movement made Charlie drowsy, but when the bike slowed and eventually came to a stop, he was wide-awake.

Hermione kicked the stand and killed the engine, but left the light shining. Charlie dismounted, flipping up the visor on his helmet, his wand out.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked suddenly as Hermione took off her helmet, setting it on the seat of the motorcycle, a scowl on her lips.

"Refuel, and because we have to go into Glasgow."

Charlie glanced about in the dark, the only light coming from the bike. He could not see Glasgow, in fact, he could see little beyond the range of light. He could hear Inferi, but in the distance.

"We're in Glasgow?"

Hermione moved to retrieve the remaining container of petrol, setting it on the pavement as she unscrewed the cap of the gas tank.

"Technically, no, but the motorway makes a roundabout up ahead, and then we'll be in the suburbs. We won't be able to pass tonight."

Charlie gaped at Hermione. Her calm was unnerving.

"I need to find a map…"

Charlie sighed; having memorized a map the day Hermione demanded they head for Leeds.

"The A86 will take us to Glen Coe."

Hermione paused in filling the gas tank and turned her bright eyes to Charlie. "You're sure?"

Charlie nodded even as a particularly close screech sounded in the still air. Hermione continued filling the tank, tossing the red plastic canister to the pavement and screwing the cap back on. Charlie did not hesitate getting back on the bike though his bones hurt and his arms felt heavy.

He would have to trust Hermione knew what she was, as the bike sped off again, into the heart of Glasgow.

* * *

Charlie watched the sun rise behind the Glasgow Necropolis, turning to the west to see the warm rays hit upon the High Kirk of Glasgow, the cathedral once dedicated to the patron saint of Glasgow, St. Mungo.

It was strange to find sanctuary in a graveyard, but they had. Hermione had brought them both through the dark streets, through danger, to the Nineteenth Century graveyard, Inferi trailing behind. As near as the undead were, they did not touch them, but followed behind, attracted by the noise.

The Glasgow Necropolis was set upon a hillside, and Hermione had set the bike next to an ornate tholos tomb mausoleum and pulled her sleeping bag from the pack on Charlie's back without a word. She slumbered still, her face obscured by wild hair on the ground next to where Charlie sat in his own sleeping bag.

As he looked at her hair, she turned, her eyes open, her wand and hand appearing outside of the bag.

"What is it?" she asked sleepily.

Charlie shook his head, "Nothing, it is dawn."

Hermione blinked and sat up suddenly, bringing her zipped up blue sleeping bag with her. Charlie nearly laughed. She looked like a blue caterpillar with wild caramel coloured fuzzy hair at one end.

Slowly, she unzipped the bag, and Charlie realized Hermione was still in her leather jacket. She sat next to him, looking down onto the cathedral as the sun's rays turned the dark stone a deep shade of red.

"I was dreaming…" she mumbled. "For the first time in a long time, I remember what it was about."

Charlie smirked. "Anything good?"

Hermione stretched, her wand pointing to the clear sky. "I was dreaming about laying in the Prefect's bath on the fifth floor, floating on the bubbles and feeling warm."

Charlie chuckled. Considering how much danger that surrounded them from every side, such a benign dream was a luxury.

"Do you think its still there? Hogwarts, I mean?" Hermione asked quietly.

Charlie sighed. "Malfoy said it was there…"

"That was over two weeks ago, Charlie."

Charlie shrugged. "Then I honestly could not say, Hermione. But it seems to me that if Hogwarts survived at the start of all this, I doubt it would fall easily."

"I suppose…but remember what Malfoy also said. Magic, it is leaving people as if someone were sapping their strength, or sucking their souls out like Dementors."

"I know…"

Hermione sat silently for a moment, and Charlie glanced over to see if she were still awake. What he found sobered him. Hermione's eyes seemed to burn and shift molten gold, her jaw set, and her face pale.

"We need to go."

Charlie almost protested as Hermione unzipped her sleeping bag and stood, quickly Charming it to roll and shrink. The need to go overruled the need for food, it seemed, and within five minutes, Hermione was driving the motorcycle out of the Necropolis, her entire body taut with anxiety.

* * *

The A82 was also known as the Great Western Road, then the Stirling Road, but Hermione kept the number eighty-two at the forefront of her mind.

The full tank of petrol had to be refueled from an abandoned car outside of Glasgow. Day light had revealed the truth of the city. The corpses that littered the streets were in pieces, but those visible through car windows were intact. Hermione had to swerve and weave along the Great Western Road until the city was behind them. Glasgow was large, and Hermione did not want to think about the number of dead.

For the first time since before Leeds, Hermione had felt the hum of magic, finding the Necropolis to be a focal point, as well as the cathedral grounds. Time, however, and exhaustion did not take her to the church, but let her lay her weary head on the ground over the bodies of the long dead. It did not matter to her, as long as she lay her body down and sleep.

The A82 straightened north along the town of Alexandria, and Hermione pushed the bike faster than ever, shifting gears quickly as she avoided impediments in her way. Hogwarts had to be reached.

Hermione was not exactly sure where Hogwarts was in Muggle terms. It was not as if it were listed on a road map. She was sure that eventually she would come to a rail line, or see a sign for a village that sounded familiar. Hogwarts was in the highlands, along the Black Lake, but was the lake itself hidden?

When they neared the village of Luss, Charlie tapped his hand on Hermione's leather clad stomach, and she took the road off the motorway, Loch Lomond coming into better view. The mountains rose into view and Hermione slowed the bike as she entered the village proper.

Parking the motorcycle near the lake, Hermione let Charlie off first, watching him chuck his helmet to the pavement and run to a clump of trees near a pier. Hermione smirked, knowing that Charlie had probably waited as long as he could before wetting himself. It made him seem human.

Hermione missed that particular feeling as she kicked the stand down and dismounted, feeling sore in the hips from straddling the bike. She slipped out of her helmet and moved to sit on the bank of the loch, taking in the view.

There was no magic in Luss, or none that she could sense right away. She waited for Charlie to return, and listened in the meanwhile. The sound of birds filled her ears and lapping water. Luss was quiet, as it was, like everywhere else, dead. They could not stay long.

When Charlie returned, he almost demanded that they eat something, and for the next ten minutes, they ate out of tins of canned meat and drank from water bottles.

"We'll press on as far as we can before nightfall," Hermione said, a cheek full of cold, salty corn beef muddling her speech. "I would like to find a safe place to sleep with a bed and maybe running water."

Charlie seemed to agree.

Loch Lomond was to their right as they headed north past Tarbet toward the headwaters of the loch at Ardlui. Hermione had refueled at Luss, and drove stony faced, finding fewer cars on the motorway, but more corpses decomposing in the sun. She tried not to look long.

The sun was lighting the highland mountains from the west as Hermione stopped the bike before a sign along the motorway, flipping up her visor.

Crianlarich.

The name was familiar, too familiar. Hermione flicked the visor down and took off into the village.

* * *

Charlie stood with Hermione on the platform of Crianlarich station. The sun was nearly set and Charlie itched to move. There was an inn nearby, a place that could be fortified.

"We are close," Hermione whispered.

Charlie glanced to her, about to speak.

"This railway line. The one of the last Muggle villages was Crianlarich, where I always told the boys to be ready to change into their robes," Hermione said softly, her eyes moving along the letters on the metal sign on a useless lamppost. "It seems like an age ago," she whispered.

Charlie wanted to sympathize, but he could not get over the feeling that Inferi were close, though he heard nothing.

"We should follow the rail line," Hermione began, but paused, her eyes moving to the bare mountains now shrouded in darkness.

Charlie watched her move along the platform, her eyes to the dark sky, stars beginning to appear overhead. There was a cracking sound from somewhere in the village, and both Charlie and Hermione whirled, wands drawn.

The odour came to Charlie before the sight, and suddenly, he was running, grasping Hermione's leather jacket as he leapt down to the rails. Hermione did not protest, but shrugged free of Charlie's hold as they ran down the line, their boots hitting the railroad ties to keep from stumbling.

"The bike!" Hermione called from Charlie's right side.

"No time!"

Charlie was not sure if what he smelled was the stench of the walking dead, but he was not about to turn around and find out. All he knew was that he could smell death, fresh and disgusting. He knew that there was something different, something far more dangerous.

Hermione was gasping at his side, trying to keep up with his long strides. Charlie winced as she began to slow, her neck craning about to see what was behind. He wanted to yell at her, castigate her in some way, but even he was beginning to tire. Crianlarich was behind them as they headed north and soon, there was only complete darkness around them.

When Charlie stopped, it was not because he felt safe, but it was because they had been running continuously for over half an hour. He bent over, his hands on his knees, his wand curled in his right thumb, trying to take in as much oxygen as possible.

"What…what was that?" Hermione gasped, falling to sit on one of the rails slightly ahead of him.

Charlie shook his head, trying to see Hermione in the darkness. He considered casting a lighting spell, but could not stop his chest from burning or his head spinning. Surprisingly, Hermione seemed to recover faster than he.

"I felt it, I smelled it, but we could have followed the line on the bike much faster…"

"No…" Charlie managed to groan, straightening. "It wasn't—"

Searing, blinding light whizzed between them, and Hermione jumped to her feet. In the red Curse light, Charlie could see her sweaty face, her wide eyes.

The Curse came from a distance behind them, and Charlie wondered, for a split second, if the Curse was actually intended to hit one of them.

"Run!" he hissed.

Hermione was already running, jumping off the track to the side where the ground was more even. Charlie followed suit, noting that they seemed to be able to move quicker on the even ground, a gravel track that ran parallel to the track.

Charlie could feel a presence behind him, like a wall of crushing death hot on his heels. There was at least one who had a wand and was casting, Inferi were only dead things. It meant someone was alive, but in no way friendly.

Hermione ran ahead of him, only starlight lighting her way. In the dark, Charlie could see little, but enough to see that the rail line was at his left. Coming onto a stream, Hermione leapt back onto the track to cross the railway bridge, it was the only way, and Charlie knew it was a mistake.

Charlie jumped onto the track behind her, pushing her down roughly as the red glow of Curse fire flew at him.

"Protego!" he growled.

Hermione made a noise as the Curse was deflected around Charlie.

"Go, cross the bridge!" Charlie muttered quickly as behind them another glow of Curse fire began to fly.

Hermione rose and ran, her boots clacking into the ties over the bridge. Charlie deflected another Curse, causing him to step back, his boot nearly slipping between the empty spaces between the ties. He could not feel Hermione behind him, could not hear her. Whatever was coming was closing upon him. Charlie clenched his jaw, his eyes dazzled by the light of the spells. Tactically, whatever was coming could only come from one direction, and if Charlie had to run, he could destroy the bridge, giving him time to catch up with Hermione. From the sound of the stream below, Charlie knew he was at least forty feet above the water.

"Alright then," he muttered to himself.

He began backing along the bridge taking careful steps. The sound of crunching gravel in the distance down the tracks made his eyes move into the dark, someone was near, and the stench of death surrounded them.

Curse fire came again, but not in red. Charlie grunted as he cast a shield Charm, but it was not enough against the power of the Killing Curse. His boot slipped, Charlie opened his mouth to shout out, and twisted his body to fall. The Curse blew over him as he began to fall farther than he thought possible.

There was a shout, but not from his voice, and a brush of air over him, a whizzing sound, but it did not matter as Charlie fell headlong down into icy water. The fall seemed to have taken minutes when it was only seconds. The impact, when it came, did not kill him, as he thought it would, and it did not knock him unconscious. It did however; stun him as his lungs filled with water. He still had his wand, surprisingly, and with it, he used it to surface as the current swept him away from the darker shadow of the railroad bridge.

The current slammed him into rocks; the sides of his head catching the stone, making his teeth crash painfully together in his skull. His feet could not find bottom, and Charlie wondered how pathetic it would seem that he drown. It was then that one last effort of self-preservation took him, and his left arm lashed out to grasp the rock, his hand curling around the stone, and never letting go.

* * *

Hermione had seen him through the night vision scope of her rifle, 'him' being the one who had forced Charlie off the bridge and down into the water. The face she saw, in the green tint through the lens, was the same one she had seen in Malfoy's memory.

Regulus Black.

She had stopped running after about two hundred yards from the bridge, and fell to the track, her rifle ready to use. It was the scope she had wanted, and through it, she saw that Black was alone, just as he had been in the Ministry, after attacking Malfoy. Perhaps her assumption that Black was the 'commander' of the Inferi had been incorrect, or worse, the Inferi were engaged elsewhere…

Hermione had commented that it felt like they had been allowed to move unimpeded for some time…since Copmanthorpe. Had Black been dispatched to off her and Charlie as he had Malfoy?

No, he had not killed Malfoy; Malfoy had killed himself by trying to release the Seal.

It did not matter, however, as Charlie flew off the bridge, narrowly avoiding the Killing Curse that was partially deflected off a particularly strong shield Charm. The rest of the light dissipated in the dark sky over the bridge.

Hermione shot, for the first time in a long time. She aimed for Black's head, knowing that the range was not too far for the modified Muggle weapon. Squeezing the trigger, Hermione exhaled a curse.

The bullet whizzed over Charlie's falling body, through the darkness. Hermione watched through the scope.

The armour-piercing bullet hit its mark, and Hermione watched with morbid satisfaction as Black's body was blown back, hitting the ground and bouncing of the rails.

"Merlin!" she hissed, jumping up from the track with the rifle pressed into her shoulder, staring down the scope and along the barrel.

Regulus Black's body did not move. Through the scope, she had seen the splatter of blood, and the perfect hole in the pale man's forehead, the bullet tearing through the skull and destroying brain matter.

If Regulus Black was not dead before, he surely was now. Hermione, however, had no time to confirm the kill. Charlie was far more important.

Jumping her way down the steep side of the stream, she found him clinging to a rock in the stream below, unconscious. The light of her wand made his face seem blue, dead, but he was not as his mouth opened and closed to gasp for breath. His green eyes were partially opened, but blind from shock.

By some lucky twist of fate, Hermione was able to Levitate him up the slope back to the rail line. In the dark, she was unable to ascertain much about his state other than he was breathing shallowly. Casting warming Charms, she tried to move as quickly as possible north, and away from Black.

Tyndrum was the next village along the line, and Hermione wondered if she had missed the line that would lead to Hogsmeade. She had no memory of Tyndrum. All the same, she felt led to stop before reaching the village proper to cut through the desolate green to a road. Trying to be as careful with Charlie as possible, Hermione crossed the A82, and into the fields again.

The old stone house came into view as the night turned into early morning. Hermione found the front door open, but the smell of death was absent. Hermione found an upper front room with a large bed, having lit her wand as soon as she entered the house. It was on the double bed that she laid Charlie. She did not attend to him immediately, finding that warding the converted house more important.

By the time she returned to the cold room, Hermione could see the sky beginning to lighten outside the window. Had the night passed so quickly?

Charlie was shivering as the warming Charms had faded, and Hermione sighed, moving to lift Charlie's upper body from the bed, stripping off the knapsack and his coat. Hermione let him lie back again as she began working Charm after Charm, to dry his clothes, to warm him, but it seemed to be of little use.

Hermione stripped out of her leather jacket and rifle strap, to search for candles and to light the fireplace in the room. Within ten minutes, the fire was raging, and candles lit the room with a warm glow.

As the sun rose, Hermione had Charlie's clothes stripped away, his boots resting on the floor by the bed. She surveyed his pale body, clinically. Despite being a bit undernourished, Charlie's pale body was bound with muscle, smattered with crimson hair, and unlike Ginny Potter's comedic ruse years ago, there were no tattoos, but plenty of silver burn scars.

The fall had broken bones, ribs, and his right arm. She had to pry his fingers from his wand, setting it on a table by the bed. Surprisingly, besides bruises, scrapes and a slight concussion, he was fit. He had coughed up water and phlegm, but there was no blood. Hermione pushed at her sleeves, wand at the ready.

Potions would have worked better, at least to ease the pain, but Hermione had no potions and no means to brew any. She could barely remember any of the combat Healing that Madame Pomfrey had taught her in Sixth Year, but Hermione tried her best. Healing the ribs, in the sense that the fractures were mended, and mending the humerus. Hermione winced at the sound of pain Charlie produced.

He did not wake.

Hermione was at a loss as to what exactly could be wrong with Charlie besides perhaps suffering from light hypothermia and a slight fever. She wondered if somehow, the Killing Curse had hit him, not full on, of course, but the influence had weakened him. Charming the blankets on the bed to cover him, Hermione sighed. She tucked the duvet about him, swiping her fingers over his brow. He was warm, and his breathing was not strained as it had been.

For the time being, they were safe, and Charlie was healing. Hermione sat on the floor before the fireplace, stretching out her palms to warm her fingers. She wondered how soon Charlie would be able to move, time was against them.


	9. 9

**9**

Hermione found food in the converted bed and breakfast, as well as spoiled food in the freezers. She Vanished the bad, and collected the good on the kitchen table. Two days had passed since the attack, and still Charlie was unconscious. It worried Hermione.

During the bright of the morning, Hermione walked into Tyndrum proper, finding the two rail lines, one running to Oban, the other to Fort William. She read the schedules and the stops on notice boards at the stations, unsure of which line to take. Hermione feared that they would not be able to find the route the Hogwarts Express took.

In the village, she found more food, and more bodies. By appearances, the villagers had not died from the Holokaustion, but were attacked by Inferi. However, there were not any recent signs of Inferi activity. Tyndrum had been dead for a long time.

Hermione returned to the house to find Charlie the same.

She knew she should be used to the silence, she had lived long enough since February with only the silence of the lack of life. Hermione sat alone the kitchen, leaning into the table, her head in her hands, deafened by the lack of Charlie's voice.

The night of the second day, Hermione left the house for the dark outside. She had her rifle and her wand, but she felt no fear in the night. Walking into the field beyond the house, Hermione pointed her face to the sky and closed her eyes. Listening to the wind coming off the slopes of the barren mountains, Hermione was reminded of Hogwarts, which surely was not too far away. Listening deeper, Hermione heard water and the cracking of swaying trees. Summer was coming, and Hermione could feel the life in the soil under her feet, ready to burst out from the dark. However, the chill that had settled over all of Britain seemed everlasting.

The music came moments later, faintly along the valley.

'When we're out together…dancing…cheek to cheek.'

It was haunting, as it had been the first time Hermione heard the opening chord of music. It was clearer, though faint. The voice was a recorded voice from an age past. Fred Astaire.

Hermione frowned and opened her eyes. It was madness.

It was as if someone had propped up millions of Muggle speakers, wired to some device to play the song over and over.

Hermione covered her ears with her cold hands, but she could still hear the faint melody.

Sensing without actually hearing. Hermione's frown deepened.

There were so many things 'wrong,' Hermione did not know what to think about them all. From Klemper's words to Malfoy's, all that really mattered was getting to Hogwarts.

* * *

Charlie woke on the third day, weak and slightly delirious. Hermione was brushing her teeth with a toothbrush she had found in the lavatory when she heard Charlie move in the bed.

For two days, she had been force-feeding him broth and water, Charming the bed clean, wiping his brow with a damp towel, and speaking to him about trivial things. When she exited the bathroom, the toothbrush hanging from her mouth, Charlie had somehow managed to sit up, staring dumbly at the room and fireplace, then to her.

"Where are we?"

Hermione smiled even as foamy toothpaste trickled down her chin.

* * *

Charlie was surprised that Hermione had been sleeping next to him, adding her own warmth to that of the room. After a day of consciousness, Charlie learned that she had saved him and tended to his wounds. There was still a bit of soreness in his ribs and his arms, but as he rose for the first time, he stretched.

That night, Hermione slept next to him on the double bed, her hair, and skin smelling clean. Charlie felt uncomfortable, watching the firelight play upon the ceiling of the room. She was so close, the warmth of her body radiating against his left arm. He felt even more uncomfortable, knowing that during his unconsciousness, she had stripped him of his clothes. Charlie had awoken nude, his skin sliding against the clean sheets.

"Can't sleep?"

Charlie blinked, he was certain she was asleep, her back to him.

"No. I feel I have slept enough," he said softly.

He was dressed in only a pair of pyjama bottoms Hermione had found somewhere in the house. Charlie exhaled as Hermione shifted, rolling to face him.

"You aren't well yet, solid foods in the morning…" she said sleepily. "Did you always stretch in the mornings?"

Charlie smirked. He had noticed Hermione's gaze that morning when he did his morning routine.

"I do, I did," he answered. "My first year in Romania, a Ridgeback knocked me off my broom when we were trying to Stun the beast… I was laid up for about a month. The Romanian Healer suggested that I stretch to keep from getting stiff…"

Hermione made a noise, and Charlie glanced to her. She had moved her hand under the blanket, her hand poised to touch his ribs past his arm.

"I was never one for physical exertion. I'm rubbish on a broom…"

Charlie held his breath as she touched him, her fingertips skimming over his skin. Her very touch had warmth.

"I am surprised that I can run without tripping over my own feet."

Her palm pressed into his ribs and Charlie was forced to breathe.

"I hate running."

Charlie inhaled through his nose as Hermione's hand ran to his hip, just at the elastic band of his pyjama bottoms. He would not look at her, but kept his green eyes on the ceiling.

Hermione seemed to sigh as she shifted closer next to him, the swell of her breasts against his upper arm. She wore a simple night shift, he remembered, but her body except for her head was under the duvet. Her wild hair was pulled back into a band, and away from her face.

"I am beginning to hate the silence…"

Her hand slipped under the waistband, and Charlie finally moved.

He grasped her wrist tightly, turning his head on the pillow to look down into her golden eyes. What he saw there startled him. Half formed tears, longing, and fear.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked in a whisper, unable to trust his own voice. Already blood was flowing southward and he could feel his pyjama bottoms shift.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed through her lips.

"Because, I am pathetic, and I am frightened."

Charlie released her wrist and felt her hand slip under the covers back toward her body. He turned his eyes away to the ceiling again.

To be able to touch another person seemed so important, to validate one's own existence, but Charlie felt that it was wrong. Hermione Granger was a girl, so young, so brilliant, and she had been Ron's. Adding to the fact that Charlie knew so little about her, he felt it even more wrong to let her touch him in some familiar way. His body was betraying him, not matter how weak he felt, his cock was not going to flag any time soon.

She had kissed him in Leeds, and during the time between there and London, they had stayed close, physically. Charlie cared for her, he knew. He had noticed her, her body, her smell, and her taste. Charlie could not deny that he found her attractive. Circumstances, however, had much to do with whether he would act on that attraction.

"I'm sorry," she said, and began to rise from the bed. "I'll sleep in another room…"

Charlie rose from the bed, resting back on his elbows as Hermione walked about the foot of the bed.

"No. I…"

Hermione paused before the fireplace at the sound of Charlie's voice. With the firelight behind her, Charlie could see through her shift. The outline of her body was still thin, starved, but still there was a swell about her hips and breasts.

"I…" he tried again, but faltered.

Hermione started to leave the room again, moving to the door, but Charlie sat up fully.

"I did not mean to offend you, Hermione," he said finally able to form a complete sentence.

Hermione's hand wrapped about the handle. "No offence taken, Charlie. Sometimes I forget that perhaps I truly am mad."

The door opened, followed by a cold draft of wind, and Charlie was on his feet.

"You're not mad, Hermione."

Hermione paused, slowly shutting the door. She had her back to him, but did not turn to face him.

"You are anything but…" he trailed, gently sitting on the edge of the bed, tired. "It is too cold in the rest of the house…"

It was his invitation back, not worded elegantly, but Charlie knew he was never very good with elegance. He settled back into bed when Hermione lay down, quiet, turning her back to him again. Charlie sighed softly and stared at the ceiling again.

The world was mad, not Hermione, and not Charlie Weasley.

* * *

He kissed her, cradling her face between his hands as her arms wrapped about his neck to pull him ever closer. Charlie drank from her mouth. She tasted real, more real than a dream.

Pulling back to breathe, Charlie knew he was not dreaming as he stared at Hermione's swollen lips. The room was hot with the raging fireplace, and the blankets were kicked to the footboard of the bed. More than that, the night shift Hermione wore was gone, as was Charlie's pyjama bottoms. All that separated them was a layer of sweat.

Hermione's legs were wrapped about his waist, her breath coming out in gasps. Charlie's eyes widened as her right hand slipped from his neck to drag fingernails down his chest. She said nothing, her golden eyes hooded, her lips parted. Charlie groaned as her small hand wrapped about his cock, positioning it at just the right angle. Her touch nearly did him in. The dream was real, and no amount of mental protest was going to stop his hips from jerking instinctually, the head of his cock sinking into her tight body.

Molten heat enveloped the head, and Charlie hissed as her body clamped down. He held himself above her, slightly aghast, slightly shocked, but more aroused than anything else. Charlie was not celibate ascetic, living among dragons like a holy hermit. However, he was not someone to push all his moral concerns aside for the sake of 'fucking.'

Hermione's hand moved to his face, to his hair, and with a rough tug on the longer hair atop his head, Charlie was drinking from her mouth again. He was lost.

One hand grasped her breast, the other slipped between them to brush at the course curls just above her clit. His thumb brushed the nubbin and Hermione moaned into his mouth. Her mouth pulled from his to cry aloud, his name somewhere in her voice.

Charlie grunted as Hermione's fingernails scored into his back. As a type of retribution, Charlie thrust his hips.

"Oh!" was the only somewhat coherent sound Hermione made.

Charlie grinned into her shoulder.

Hermione was incredibly small under him, and tight. Charlie wondered if he should restrain himself from pounding into her body, but the prodding heels of her feet into his buttocks told him otherwise. She clung to him, riding against him as the headboard banged into the wall above them.

There was no tenderness, no lovely endearments, just grunts and moans, flesh slapping against flesh, and sweat dripping from one body to the other. Mating, coupling, whatever Charlie could think to call, it was primal. He simply wanted to fill her with his cum, feel her body convulse under him, and roar in completion.

It should have been more, he knew. Hermione should have more. Tender words, a loving caress, something soul jarring, something real. Charlie knew Hermione was a good woman, even though he barely knew her. She had thanked him for helping her, for traveling with her. She had cared for him, saved him, just as he saved her. Hermione was someone who should have been loved completely.

Charlie never knew what happened between her and Ron, but he knew Ron well enough that the boy could not keep his eyes from wandering.

"Charlie!"

She was close, every smooth thrust pushing her to the edge. Her breasts swayed between them, as Charlie tasted her mouth again, her nipples rasping against the sweaty, course crimson hair on his chest.

How could anything feel so wonderful? How could anything feel so warm? Charlie hissed, nearly loosing himself inside her body. He wanted to cum, he wanted to end the madness that made him believe that 'this' was more than loneliness manifest.

Hermione's head tilted back from their kiss to reveal the column of her throat and Charlie tasted there as well. He did not stop moving against her, feeling her juices seeping between them and into the mattress. His lust-fogged brain had the desire to taste there too. Already, his vision was tunneling slightly, the tight, restricting swell in his sac informing him that he was too far gone.

A roar emanated from deep inside, and burst from his lips as his hips jerked erratically. He could feel his cum as it compressed inside her, it felt like scalding heat, alive, his soul's essence.

Hermione held him tight in her arms when he collapsed, the muscles in his back and shoulders burning from use—a function of muscle and movement he had not utilized in a long while. He rested his cheek in her left shoulder, his eyes shutting. Her legs untangled about his waist and Charlie grunted as his cock was pushed out of her body, trailing cum and juices onto the bed.

The glorious afterglow resulted in sleep, and Charlie smiled into Hermione's shoulder, feeling that she too was drifting off into a dreamless and sated peace.

* * *

Hermione woke sometime close to dawn, slipping from Charlie's arms. She fled to the lavatory to wash, to return to cast cleansing Charms on the bed. She was not sure why she hesitated with the 'Charm,' but she cast anyway. Pregnancy was nothing but a complication, and she had too many complications to deal with as it was.

Stoking the fire with a spell, Hermione slipped back into bed. Charlie sighed and pulled her near again so that her ear rested over his heart. It was endearing, the way his body wrapped about hers, and Hermione smiled softly, her fingers running along the trail of crimson hair on his chest, down to his taut belly under the haphazardly arranged sheet and duvet.

There was a semblance of safety and care in his embrace. It almost made Hermione's world normal. She wanted him, not because he was a man, and not because the sight of him did arouse her. Hermione wanted him because he was Charlie Weasley, someone who was proving to be wonderful despite the state of things outside of their embrace.

Charlie sighed again as her fingers dipped lower, to brush the crimson hair above his turgid cock. Hermione licked her lips, and gently drew a finger along the underside of the shaft. The organ jerked and Charlie inhaled deeply.

Hermione drew her hand away, not wanting to actually wake the man.

She had wanted to touch him for some time, ever since Leeds the want had grown to need. Charlie Weasley was a proficient kisser.

He had been half dreaming when he took her hours before, kissing her, touching her, Hermione was only half awake when it started, but she did nothing to stop it. She needed Charlie to touch her.

Hermione did not need a validation of life. She needed to be wanted, and wanted she was.

A large hand grasped her wrist just as she began to pull away completely. Hermione nearly gasped aloud as the hand forced her fingers to grip the bobbing cock. Hermione licked her lips, unable to turn her eyes upward to Charlie's face. Instead, her fingers wrapped about the thick shaft. She could not see the organ for the duvet in the way, but Charlie's grip on her wrist forced her to stroke. Charlie's cock was thicker than it was long, but Hermione's small palm was not wide enough to span the length.

Charlie hummed at Hermione's ministrations and in turn, Hermione felt her own sore pussy throb. There was something so base about stroking Charlie's cock when everything around them had gone to hell, but Hermione did not stop.

Shifting under her, Charlie's right arm moved to push Hermione's head gently off his chest, his long fingers search down the length of her body. Hermione paused for a moment as Charlie turned onto his right side, his left hand now running along her right hip. They were face to face, and in the grey early morning light and firelight, Hermione could stare into Charlie Weasley's beautiful jade green eyes.

His fingers slipped between the space of her inner thighs, sliding upward. Hermione huffed a breath as she faltered a stroke. Charlie seemed to sigh as his digits curled upward into her body, one long finger penetrating her.

She wanted to close her eyes, block out the sight of Charlie's eyes as they crinkled at the corners finding how wet she was. Hermione did not close her eyes, however, and lifted her right knee to open herself to his touch. The soreness of muscle and bone were forgotten as a second finger slipped inside. A rhythm began, and Hermione whimpered, her grip tightening around his cock.

It was almost obscene the way Charlie's fingers slipped in and out of her pussy, creating a sticky sound. She wanted to say how wrong it was, or laugh and say how adolescent, but it was not. It was pleasure, something Hermione had almost lost after so long.

When his thumb pressed against her clit, Hermione forgot to stroke him. He kissed her instead, rolling to slip his right arm under her hair and neck. Charlie groaned into her mouth as his hips pressed against her side, the oozing head of his cock brushing into Hermione's nether curls.

He did not stop his fingers from curling, his thumb from circling, and Hermione breath hitched. She grasped him however she could when her voice rang out, her head throwing back, breaking the kiss. Charlie bit into the base of her neck as she trembled, her voice filling the silence in a throaty cry.

Climax had come suddenly, unexpectedly, and for a short, blissful moment, Hermione thought of nothing at all.

However, when thought returned it was to the sound of a growling stomach and Charlie was chuckling into her shoulder. Hermione snorted and suddenly, the intense moment was over, replaced by long missed laughter.

"And it is no wonder," Hermione said while dressing into a clean set of clothing, using the footboard to balance her as she rolled a sock onto her foot. "No solid food for two days…"

"Better than no food at all, I suppose," Charlie said from the bed, his hands behind his head, the sheets pulled up over his waist.

"True. There's enough food here to last a while, or at least until you get your…" she trailed, a corner of her mouth lifting. "I was going to say strength…"

Charlie laughed quietly. "Another day of rest, real rest, then…"

Hermione's smirk faded. "Then we find the way to Hogwarts," she finished, seriously.

* * *

Charlie ate a real meal for the first time in perhaps a year. Living on the Reserve rarely gave him a chance at real food. Maybe a tinned meat sandwich constituted a meal, but Charlie could never keep a good Stasis Charm on bread while he backpacked the Reserve.

He loved to cook, though, and when he would return to the Lodge, we would cook for the boys. Sometimes stew, sometimes a few Romanian dishes he had picked up, sometimes meat pies they could take with them into the field. One Keeper, Clemens from America, called Charlie a 'regular Betty Crocker,' but Charlie never knew if it were a compliment or an insult.

Hermione had brought him two good meals, the first being a breakfast, granted the eggs were powdered and the ham tinned, but it was better than eating straight out of tins as they had been doing. He had risen and used the lavatory, stretched, dressed, peered out the room's window. He still felt out of sorts, and the fact that his hips were sore, as was his back, did not help.

By midday, Hermione brought him lunch, managing to find tea, no milk, and adding a bit more to what tasted like a regular tin of cream soup. She ate with him at a small table near the window looking over the valley and to the mountains.

They spoke little, and Charlie was contented in the silence, as long as she was near. Hermione seemed to glow in the sunlight from the window as she ate her soup. Charlie could not stop looking at her. Occasionally she would blush when their eyes met, but there was no awkward moments, only comfortable silence. She was beautiful. The way the sun caught the golden highlights of her pinned up wavy hair, or her golden eyes… Charlie wondered if somehow he were falling in love.

Charlie finished his soup and stretched in his chair. He was beginning to feel suddenly restless. As much as he wanted to touch her again, as much as he wanted to taste her skin, he knew that there were more important things to do.

Hermione took the dishes away, but left the tea. Charlie helped himself to a fresh cup and drank slowly. He could hear her moving somewhere downstairs, a downstairs he could not remember seeing. When Hermione returned, she sat across from him, a demure smile on her lips as she reached for the tea.

"You haven't told me…" he started, then paused as Hermione's face seemed to drain of smile. "How you managed to get me here. What happened…"

Hermione exhaled as she finished filling her cup, a cheap porcelain cup that matched the rest of the small service.

"It was Black," was all she said, before lifting the steaming tea to her lips and slipping quietly.

"As in the Black that was in the Ministry?" Charlie asked, blinking rapidly.

Hermione nodded, finding her tea too hot and putting it down again. "The same."

Charlie listened as Hermione explained about the Muggle rifle, finding him in the stream, and healing his broken bones. There was not much to tell, she had said. "And here we are," she finished.

Charlie frowned slightly, turning his eyes to the window again. There they were, in Scotland, perhaps only miles from Hogwarts, and no closer to knowing whether the castle had fallen or not. The fact that Black had attacked bothered Charlie, not just the fact that he somehow seemed to be alive after thirty years of death.

Why them, and why attack when he did? Of course, the overarching question as to why someone would want to kill all Muggles and Magical folk was left unanswered.

Hogwarts had to have the answers. Between Hermione and himself, they would find the answer, no matter how terrible it might be. They had endured enough horror so far, a little more surely could not rankle them any more.

* * *

Hermione slept against his side that night, breathing deeply into his chest. Charlie again, was staring up at the ceiling.

She had not hesitated as his open arms invited her to sleep. Charlie had only kissed her chastely on the mouth as she muttered her 'goodnights.' He could tell that she was reaching a new state of exhaustion. Her contemplative silences often made him frown. Just like him, Hermione was trying to know the unknowable.

Charlie closed his eyes, feeling Hermione's hand on his belly twitch, and her lips smack in her sleep. He grinned.

Hermione had been the first person he had found alive. She was precious, special to him. Perhaps, when things were safe, when they had answers, Charlie could ask Hermione how she really felt about him. Danger held them together, would safety keep them?

She sighed in her sleep, and Charlie let himself be taken by sleep. In the morning, they would continue north, to whatever awaited them. If only to keep himself from being alone, he would protect her, keep her close to his side. It was not love, per se, but it was need. Charlie needed her to keep the grief away, to keep sanity in.

Hermione Granger was more than just 'Ron's smart girlfriend.' That time had passed, just had the time when the world made sense.

* * *

It was just past Tyndrum, almost near the junction of the A85 from the A82 that Charlie's feet found the railway that was not marked on any Muggle map. The relief on Hermione's face made Charlie grin. She had voiced her concern many times that morning after leaving the bed and breakfast, as well as her fear that they would somehow be barred from seeing anything magical.

Hermione had told him about hearing the music several nights before, while he healed. She had even sung the words of the song to him on their trek to Tyndrum.

"Does it mean anything to you?" Charlie asked.

Hermione shrugged as they walked the rails in a quick pace. The morning was unusually cold and Hermione kept her hands shoved in the pockets of her denims, the shoulders of her leather jacket rising.

"It's an old song. My dad really liked it. All I know is that Fred Astaire sang it in the recordings my dad had…"

"Fred Astaire?"

Hermione smirked. "American Muggle, he was a famous dancer and actor in the '30s through the '60s. Did a lot of films, danced a bit with Ginger Rogers… I think the song was in one of the films he did."

Charlie nodded as the rails ran slightly upward, climbing higher into the mountains.

"I just know that it was a popular song, somewhat symbolizing a time in Muggle history…before the War."

"The Muggle World War?"

"The second one," Hermione added.

Charlie licked his lips as Hermione picked up the pace to make it up the slope, bringing them into a highland, desolate, with no visible roads.

"Why that song, and why we can hear it, that is a mystery," Hermione mumbled.

Charlie said nothing as she continued. She spoke of how she could hear it without actually listening, as if feeling it inside her body. Charlie had not taken the time to learn this disturbing bit of news, and he knew that it was perhaps better he did not try to hear it.

He remembered what Hermione said about Viktor Krum's theory—magic calling to magic. If this were the case, were the only people left alive were the ones they had come across?

They walked in silence as the sun spanned the sky overhead, finally beating down on their shoulders to make them pause and take off their coats and take some lunch. By late afternoon, they both were walking a bit faster.

"Can you feel it?" Charlie asked, startling Hermione.

She was walking next to him, her hand sometimes finding his. Her pace quickened, but she did not glance at him.

"I do."

The feeling, more like a sensation, had not suddenly become clear as they walked due north, but as the rail turned toward the northeast, there was an audible hum coming down the tracks. Charlie could feel it in the metal near his left ankle, through his dragon hide boots.

They stopped in unison, Hermione bending down to press her hand to the metal rail to her right, Charlie mimicking her on the left.

"There couldn't be a train…" Hermione muttered.

"No," Charlie agreed.

The hum or vibration was not from a train coming up or down the track. It was if the metal were somehow electrified, or heated, causing the rail to hum with an eerie metallic pitch.

Charlie glanced to Hermione to see her pressing her ear to the smooth silver metal, her golden eyes gazing up at him. She listened for a moment and then jerked away, as if shocked.

"What it is?" Charlie asked, startled.

Hermione's eyes were wide as she stared at his face.

"I…" she starred, but trailed. "I don't know. It is like a conductor…magical energy being sent along the rail. Listen."

Charlie licked his lips and bent down. Pressing his ear into the sun-warmed rail, he felt the hum vibrate against the hair on the side of his head. Then he heard it.

Fred As-whatever-Hermione-called-him, singing that song that had tormented them both for what seemed like ages. But under the music was something else, a sound that Charlie knew, but did not know.

Life.

"Merlin, we're close," he said, without thinking. Then rising from the rail, he met Hermione's eyes. "It's Hogwarts, it's them, and they're still alive!"

Hermione launched herself into Charlie's arms, laughing. Charlie held her, his eyes misting.

For the first time in months, there was life, concentrated life! No rumours, no vain wishes, but proof! They were on the right path, and they were close. Hermione was laughing wholeheartedly, and Charlie knew that she was near to weeping.

It was late May, and almost three months had passed since 'it' all began. Now, they were so close.

Charlie felt a tear trickle out of the corner of his left eye and he cleaved to Hermione Granger, thanking whatever power, they had survived so far. All that remained was closing the distance between them and that hum of life.

Together, they ran, toward hope.

* * *

Two and a half days, that was how long it took them to come around a bend on the track and see the Black Lake and Hogsmeade. Hogwarts, however, was obscured by mist, or so it seemed.

Hermione grasped Charlie's hand to stop him from their vantage point along the track, her eyes peering through the trees to Hogsmeade station. Hermione could still feel the hum from the tracks around her feet, but danger compelled her body to freeze while her eyes studied and interpreted what she saw in the distance.

Charlie seemed to be doing the same.

It had begun raining the day before and had not stopped. Hermione could feel the weight of her damp hair, too anxious to stop to Charm it dry. They had not slept. They had not eaten. The need to press forward required no rest or food. However, as Hermione shifted her rifle from her shoulder to lift it up, she peeked through the scope with a sinking sensation in her belly.

The red cars and engine of the Hogwarts Express was stationary by the platform. From the station, Hermione moved the scope toward the jetty nearby, a place that held such a special memory for her and most likely Charlie. The enchanted boats that they rode on as First Years, before the Sorting, were gone. The mist from the loch was too thick to see Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. Hermione sighed, lowered the rifle to rest the butt by her toe.

The road along lake and up to Hogsmeade was surely watched, and if what Malfoy said was true, Inferi were blocking the way.

"If there are wards protecting the castle and the grounds, differentiating between live and dead, we shouldn't have a problem," Charlie sighed. "But getting to the gates…"

Hermione nodded. "We could cut across the mountains to the east, beyond the border of the Forest…"

"No. It may not seem like it, but the Forest stretches further east than you might think. Miles. Bill and I tried to fly around it one time in school. We nearly got lost."

Hermione bit her bottom lip. The Forbidden Forest  _was_  enchanted, and doubtless warded along with the castle. Her eyes moved to the Black Lake and the wooded road. They could double back, head to the northeast, and cut across to Dufftown, a hamlet at least fifty miles down the valley from Hogsmeade, but that journey would take at least a week. They did not have a week.

"We cannot wait until dark," she said aloud, unable to think of any other way to reach the gates of Hogwarts except for the obvious—the road from the station. "Surely, if it is day…"

Charlie made a noise that sounded like a sneeze and Hermione glanced to him.

"It is hardly day, with a sky like this. This weather, for this time of year, is unnatural."

Charlie had sneezed, and for the first time since feeling the hum in the rails, she noticed how pale he was. He still was not one hundred percent, and the cold seemed to drain all colour from his skin. They needed shelter. Hermione was not feeling well either, her exhaustion making her more susceptible to the cold and wet.

"Well? The road, or are we going to stand here until nightfall?" Charlie grumbled, obviously tired and short tempered.

Hermione shouldered her rifle and drew her wand. Charlie followed suit.

"It would be a pity to die so close to the goal," she whispered, searching for Charlie's free hand.

"Wouldn't it?" he said with a small grin.


	10. 10

**10**

There were no Thestral drawn carriages, no lanterns lit along the sheltered road, and in the trees, lost in the fathomless green, there was no life. Charlie had never felt so on edge as he did running along the muddy road. He had wanted the road between the station and Hogsmeade and the gates of Hogwarts to always be a magical place. It was not.

After feeling such a horrible lack of magic in the south, he felt suffocated with it so close to Hogwarts. It was if all the magic of Britain was being sucked to that particular area, making everything, the ground, the air, the rain, saturated with power. It unsettled him.

The road rose to a knoll as the trees broke to overlook Hogsmeade, and the walls about the grounds of Hogwarts. It was where they were forced to stop, and fall to the muddy road, fearing that they were seen.

"Fucking hell…" Hermione had muttered, panting out her breath in white streams.

The air was so cold for the first day of June that Charlie wondered if the rain would turn to snow at any moment. But the cold was not had Charlie's teeth chattering.

It was just as Malfoy had said weeks before.

Charlie began crawling on his forearms and knees to the edge of the knoll, looking down on what had once been Hogsmeade. Hermione followed, her rifle down, her golden eye peering again through the scope.

The road forked below them, one road leading up to Hogsmeade, the other to the closed gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the vale between the two places, there was what looked to be half a million Inferi.

Hogsmeade, from Charlie's vantage point, had been turned into a regular hive of dead things. There were structures that were burnt, only the barebones of walls and rafters left. Other structures looked to be intact, but were surely housing Inferi from the sunlight. What Inferi were left outside alternated between lying on the ground in heaps of bodies or wandering the vale, mindlessly.

"The walls have not been breached, but I can see where the Inferi have tried," Hermione whispered. "I can see the castle has been damaged, the Astronomy Tower is about to collapse…"

"Do you see anyone?" Charlie whispered back, pressing into Hermione's side.

"No. It is out of range. I cannot see the grounds."

Charlie sighed. They had to find a way in, and if it was not through the gates, then how?

Hermione shifted, the scope pointing up to Hogsmeade. Charlie waited for word.

"Honeydukes is gone… The Hogs Head… I think Gladrags too…"

Charlie licked his cold lips.

"I can just see the roof of the Shrieking Shack on the road to Dufftown. We could probably reach it if we climb up the mountain and go around."

"Why?"

Hermione pulled her face away from the eyepiece of the scope and smiled. "I keep forgetting that you did not know about the Marauders Map."

Charlie frowned. He  _did_  know about it, Fred and George had told him the year they found it in Filch's office. Charlie had found the idea of the device ingenious, but Fred and George kept it so secret that even their older brother was not allowed to see it. Ron had told him about his Third Year, the truth about Scabbers, and the passage. Charlie had not asked 'why' because he did not know, he asked because if he were in charge of fortifying Hogwarts, the first thing he would do was block all the passages in and out of the castle.

Hermione was thinking a step ahead, however.

"They would not block off all passages in or out. That would be tactical suicide. The passage in the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow could be defended easily…"

Charlie smirked. Yes, if the survivors in the castle had any hope of letting others in, there had to be a safe way in and out, a secret way. However, there were no assurances that the master of the Inferi did not already know about the passage.

It was then Charlie bit his lip roughly.

If Regulus Black had been the one controlling the Inferi, and Hermione killed Black with a Muggle bullet, why were the monsters still pacing outside the gates of the castle? Apparently, Hermione was pondering this question also as she lay the rifle down and rolled on her back in the muddy road.

"I should have checked the body. I should have stopped and confirmed the kill," she whispered to herself.

Charlie said nothing, but reach to touch her shoulder.

They had to get moving before dark.

* * *

Even Disillusioned, and vigilant, the trek up the mountain, through the trees, past the tree line and down again to the lane out of Hogsmeade took hours. Hermione knew Charlie was frustrated at her slow pace. She knew that he was used to hiking over rough terrain. Hiking on trails in the Adirondacks was different that walking over the wet, cold, and steep mountains of the Scottish Highlands. By the time they knelt across the empty lane from the Shrieking Shack, it was already dark.

The sound that filled the remnants of Hogsmeade and the vale between the village and castle was terrifying. Thousands of dead voices seemed to howl, creating a din that made the hairs on Hermione's arms and back of her neck stand on end. Thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of shadowy figures surged and withdrew in the vale from Hermione's vantage point. A fear, new and fresh, seized her.

Charlie, however, grasped her left hand and squeezed. She could feel him trembling, but he was far better mentally composed than she was at that moment. His eyes were upon the lights in the castle.

The lights in the Great Hall and the dormitory towers were lit, as was the grounds, or what Hermione could see of them. It was as if hundred of Muggle flood lights lit the grass, even Hagrid's hut, giving no room for shadow. The sight was heartening.

Charlie whispered to her, but Hermione could only hear the last word, his voice so soft.

"…go…"

They moved across the lane, careful not to let one footfall make a noise, and then ran from the lane down to the Shack.

In the dark, it was difficult to find an entrance. The washed out grey boards and siding looked all the same in the darkness, and Hermione was not about to light her wand. Charlie released her hand, and she could just see his Disillusioned form moving to her left, searching.

As far as Hermione could tell, the Shrieking Shack was as it always was, dilapidated, ready to fall in, but somehow sticking together, the wood creaking and shifting above her. There was no visible damage, and the windows were boarded up from the inside and outside, just as it had always been.

In the upstairs of the Shack, Hermione had first laid eyes upon Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. In the upstairs, Severus Snape had died…

The touch of Charlie's hand startled her, and again he whispered to her, too low to discern. She figured he had found a way in. As far as she knew, Fred and George had never found a way in from the outside before. Perhaps a way was made, secretly, to allow survivors to pass inside.

Charlie found the trapdoor leading down into the underground passage in the basement before Hermione's eyes could focus in the dark. All she could sense was the smell of damp and the cold. Even when Charlie helped to lower her in the tunnel, replacing the trap door overhead, Hermione could only see blackness.

"I think it is safe now," Charlie whispered.

Hermione nodded to the dark, feeling Charlie's damp body pressed into her back. Before she could raise her wand, the wet trickle of the Disillusionment Charm ripple across her body and Charlie lit his wand.

To see Charlie's face was a comfort, and Hermione lit her wand as Charlie squeezed by her, crouching slightly in the tunnel. He stretched his hand back behind him to grasp hers, and together they began moving.

It had been years and years since Hermione had been in the secret passageway, and her head kept knocking against roots overhead. The barrel of her rifle scarped the roof of the tunnel and she winced, knowing that wet dirt was falling down the long barrel, cleaning the gun would have to wait… She had been shorter in Third Year. Charlie grumbled and cursed as he too kept his head bowed to avoid the roots and rocks.

"I've never been in here before… The passage doesn't have any forks does it?" Charlie whispered.

Hermione licked her damp lips, "No."

"Good," Charlie grumbled.

The passage, as Hermione remembered, was long and at times very narrow. The ground under her feet sloped downwards, and she wondered if they were walking down into the vale between the village and castle. When the path sloped upward, Hermione knew they were close. She could smell fresh air, and Charlie quickened his pace.

"I see light," Charlie whispered, stopping at a wider space in the passage to let Hermione stand beside him.

They stood at the entrance, a pile of damp rocks creating a makeshift stairway between the roots of the Whomping Willow. As Charlie had said, light was visible between the soil, rock, and root. Hermione smiled. They were on the grounds.

Hermione moved first, releasing Charlie's hand, canceling the lighting spell. Charlie was just behind her as she pulled her rifle from across her chest, tossing it up through the hole onto the grounds. With a grunt, she climbed, and rolled onto her belly onto grass and dead leaves. Charlie was right behind her, on his back, staring up at the leafy branches of the Whomping Willow.

The tree was not moving, and slowly, Hermione moved to her hands and knees, crawling toward her rifle. The lights that lit the grounds blinded her from looking up to the castle.

"Oi! Stop there!"

The voice was loud, spelled to be loud, male, and angry.

Hermione touched her rifle, but as she did, a divot of earth exploded up next to the rifle. A small Blasting Hex, a warning…

"Not another inch!"

Hermione tried to look into the light as several shadows converged around her. Charlie was on his feet, hands raised in surrender, his thumb curling around his wand.

"Who are you?" another voice called out, female.

"I'm Charlie Weasley, this is Hermione Granger. We mean no harm…"

"Weasley?"

Suddenly, the light was not so blinding as six people dressed in thick winter cloaks blocked the floodlight, standing ten feet where Hermione crouched. Slowly, Hermione rose, leaning back onto her legs, her hands, and wand on her knees.

The faces she saw were familiar, but Hermione had a hard time placing names to the faces.

"How the devil did you…?" one asked, an older man.

Dedalus Diggle.

"The passage, stupid. McGonagall said we were to watch it!" a woman hissed, her dark face twisted angrily, her dark eyes studying Hermione's face.

Padma Patil.

"But no one has used it since…" a young man said softly, blue eyes widening.

He looked like a Creevey, not Colin as he had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. Dennis, Hermione remembered.

"You two look like you've hard a hard time of it," another voice said, kinder, gruffly.

Hermione's eyes moved to the voice, and the face.

Marcus Flint.

"Come on then," said another, sounding bored and sleepy.

Millicent Bulstrode.

Charlie helped Hermione up, grabbing her rifle and passing it to her. Hermione numbly let the rifle weigh upon her shoulder as the familiar faces led them away from the tree. Charlie was holding her hand again, having slipped his wand into its holster under his soaked trench coat.

"They'll have questions for you," Padma said to Charlie' her dark eyes moving over Hermione again, a slight expression of disgust on her pretty face.

"Who?" Charlie asked, apparently more in the moment than Hermione. Hermione felt as if she were walking through a dream as they came up to the front doors of the castle.

"We've been calling them the 'Three' now that Malfoy Jr. is gone."

Charlie sighed. Hermione blinked. Malfoy had mentioned his father, Ron and Susan Bones…was that the 'Three?' Hermione did not think long on it as the grounds leading down to the gates came into view. The expanse of lit green was littered with mounds of earth, and at the gates, the wards flashed as Inferi threw their dead bodies into it.

"Graves," Flint whispered near Hermione's shoulder. "Don't think about it now."

Hermione wanted to turn to Flint and thank him for being so kind, but did not have the chance as Charlie tugged slightly on her arm to force her to turn her attention to the open castle doors.

Light and warmth sufficed Hermione's haze as she passed over the threshold and into the Entrance Hall. The sound of life was deafening, the hum of voices like a background roar. There was also the smell of life, something Hermione had not experienced for months—it made her nauseous.

She and Charlie were led past the doors to the Great Hall where the voices seemed loudest, up the stairs into the portrait hall, and to the first floor corridor. Hermione had noticed that the portraits were not moving, and it shocked her for some reason.

When Charlie pulled her into the History of Magic classroom, it was to a shout. Suddenly, Hermione backed away as Charlie's hand slipped from hers. The guard that escorted them into the castle quickly left the large room, as a gaggle of red haired people seemed to devour Charlie in embraces and kisses.

Hermione could not breathe as she fell back against the wall near the door. The heavy sensation of life was crushing in on her, overwhelming her. The classroom was packed with people, and not just red heads. There were others, all crowding around Charlie, all familiar, and all people that Hermione had cared for once upon a time.

She slid down the wall, her arms wrapped about her knees to make herself smaller. Hermione was suffocating, panicking, and she could not stop herself.

After months of death, the overabundance of life was killing her.

* * *

"Oh sweet Merlin, my boy, my boy!"

Charlie was fighting the urge to push his family away, but their hands and kisses covered him, touching him as if to ascertain he were real. His mother held him the hardest, her cries of joy almost like an Inferius' screech. Ginny was kissing his face; George was shaking his left hand roughly. Even Audrey, Percy's wife was weeping. There were others as well, people who were not family, but were neighbors or old friends. Xenophilius was singing with happiness, even Mrs. Diggory was muttering a prayer while she held Charlie's right hand.

"We tried and tried to contact you, Charlie, oh we tried!" Ginny wept. "How did you get here?"

Charlie could not breathe well enough to answer, until George finally shouted: "Give the man some room, Weasleys and friends!"

Even George's voice was thick with tears, but the family complied, stepping back to assess Charlie.

"Where's Ron?" Charlie asked first.

"He's with the 'Three,' probably in the dungeons…" Molly Weasley answered, an icy edge to her voice.

"The children? Lucy? Molly? Jaime? Al? Little Fred?" Charlie then asked, his jade green eyes scanning the room.

No one spoke for a moment, and slowly some began to depart, Mrs. Diggory, Lovegood, Audrey and Molly… Ginny and George were the ones to step forward, standing close to Charlie, George's hand clapping on Charlie's left shoulder, Ginny's hand taking his right.

"Gone. The children were the first to go," Ginny whispered. "Lucy and Jaime are left, and Jaime's in the Hospital Wing…I just left there…"

Charlie's eyes widened. Malfoy had said that the children were dying, but…

"Only the older children seem to be fine. It's Lucy's first year, so she's been moving between Ravenclaw and here…"

Charlie licked his lips. "And Bill's?"

Ginny seemed to smile. "Bill and Fleur are in Alexandria. The children are with them. The last thing I heard from Bill was when he pulled Victoire out of school at New Years. He said that there were some strange rumours… But it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you're here, and…"

Charlie followed Ginny's gaze.

"Oh gods…" Ginny gasped, releasing Charlie's hand and rushing to the door.

Charlie was on Ginny's heels, kneeling next to his sister to reach for Hermione Granger's face.

"Why didn't you say something?" Ginny hissed to her brother.

Hermione's face was blank, her golden eyes dulled. From the way she held herself, Charlie knew she was in shock. In the warm candlelight in the room, Hermione looked as if she were dying.

"Can I take her somewhere?" Charlie whispered, his hands taking hold of Hermione, plucking off the rifle from her shoulder before lifting her up into his arms.

Ginny was at his side. "Hospital Wing. What's happened?"

Charlie grimaced as he managed to open the door to the classroom and slip out into the corridor. Hermione was stiff in his arms, but Charlie's feet pounded into the stone floor as Ginny ran beside him.

"She's in shock. Gin, you have no idea what we…" Charlie started, then trailed, trying to remember the quickest route to the Hospital Wing.

Ginny steered Charlie with a touch on his elbow, and Charlie was nearly running when the doors of the Hospital Wing came into sight far at the other end of the corridor.

"I'll save my questions, Charlie, but is she alright otherwise? Has she been hurt?" Ginny gasped as she was running to keep up.

"Not recently. It is the shock of this place, the concentration of life and magic… It's hard for me too…" he grunted, pausing to lift a boot to kick in the doors of the Hospital Wing.

Besides the shouts of protest and the sudden appearance of Madame Pomfrey, Charlie thought of nothing except secluding Hermione and somehow talking her out of her stupor. Charlie had not lied when he felt overwhelmed by the amount of life and magic around him. He felt as if he needed to lie down or vomit.

Charlie laid Hermione on an empty cot, away from the screened off portions of the Hospital Wing, and then collapsed to the floor next to the cot. Ginny called for potions while Poppy Pomfrey fussed over Hermione, running her wand up and down Hermione's body.

"Here, Charlie," Ginny whispered, pressing a phial into his hand. "It's Pepper-up."

Charlie drank, feeling quickly warmer, his senses dulled slightly until his brain could sort them out. He felt better, but the weariness was not gone. Slowly, he pulled himself from the floor to sit on an adjacent cot, watching.

"Exhaustion," Pomfrey said with a scowl. "Muscle strain, some fractures, but most of all, mental fatigue."

Charlie sighed, relieved. He watched as Pomfrey forced a Dreamless Sleep down Hermione's throat and she relaxed.

"A few days rest, some real food… And now for you, Mr. Weasley," Poppy Pomfrey said, finally managing a smile.

* * *

Ginny did not leave Charlie or Hermione's beds. Through the rest of the night, Charlie told his little sister what had happened to him since February. As he spoke from his cot, he studied Ginny's face.

She looked tired, and older. Charlie had seen her at Christmas, but already, by June, she looked as if she had aged years instead of months.

"I found Percy."

Ginny took a shaky breath. "We had no hope left that he would come…"

Charlie closed his eyes. "And Hermione found the list of those who were used to cast the Curse… Dad…Angelina…Harry…they're all gone."

Ginny made a noise and Charlie opened his eyes.

"Not… Not all gone. Harry is still…"

Charlie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ginny sighed and shifted on the chair Pomfrey had brought for her.

"He's in a bed down the way."

Charlie sat up suddenly, and regretted it as his head spun. "He's not…?"

Ginny shook her head, her face grave. "He resisted the Imperius. He did not cast the Curse. I Stunned him."

Charlie blinked rapidly as Ginny's face seemed to soften and she smiled softly. "Harry knew what was happening. He shouted that I get Al and Lily away, and when he could not hold off the Imperius, I Stunned him.

He's alive. In a coma, but alive, at least… Al and Lily, they…they died a month ago…"

Charlie reached for his sister as the tears began to fall, and Ginny launched herself from the chair into his arms. Charlie held his sister, as she wept quietly into the nightshirt standard for all patients in the Hospital Wing, and pet her long, lovely hair.

He glanced over to Hermione, whose face was peaceful in sleep. Screens surrounded their beds, and over Ginny's sobs, he could hear snores and whispers. When Ginny pulled away, it was to apologize.

"Ron has been working so hard to find a way…" she began, her blue eyes shimmering in the light that lit the grounds outside the Hospital Wing windows. "We are dying Charlie, some faster than others. Our magic is fading. I can feel mine weakening, and Jaime…I'll lose him soon."

He could not think of anything to say to soothe his sister. All he could do was hold her tight and stroke her hair. Surely, Hermione could have thought of something to say, but Hermione was having a hard time of her own.

"Malfoy's dead then?"

"Yeah."

"We waited for word, but we knew that it might never come. The Seal is still in place… And I'm glad," Ginny whispered into Charlie's left ear.

They parted slowly, Ginny sitting on the edge of the cot.

"Lucius Malfoy…he was against it from the start, but Ron pushed, convinced Susan that it was the best thing to do. Ron said that if we wanted a chance…" Ginny whispered, trailing as the sound of footsteps filled the Hospital Wing.

Almost immediately after Ginny's last word, the screens parted, and standing at the foot of Charlie's bed were three figures, the tallest of which was dressed in dragon hide armour, an angry purple scar running down the left side of a familiar face, pulling the skin around the eye down hideously.

"Gin, you need to go."

Charlie stared at his youngest brother, bothered by the dull coldness in his blue eyes, just as the scar bothered him. Flanking Ron to the right was a very haggard looking Lucius Malfoy, dressed in Muggle clothing, two canes in his hands to hold him upright. To the left was a young woman, Susan Bones, with a long plait of strawberry blond hair wrapped like a serpent about her neck, also in dragon hide armour.

Ginny squeezed Charlie's hand and rose, nodding to Ron and the others as she left the screened in area. Ron moved, more limped, to the left side of Charlie's bed, Susan behind him. Lucius Malfoy lumbered to the right side of the bed to sit heavily in Ginny's vacated chair, his pale eyes moving smoothly to stare at Hermione.

Ron drew his wand from his trouser pocket and cast a spell; one that Charlie learned was the 'Muffliato.' Then he cast another spell to magically move the screens back in place, blocking out any lamplight.

"I know it is late, and that you must be tired, Charlie, but we need to ask you some questions," Ron said finally, his voice rougher than Charlie remembered.

Ron and Susan stood stolidly by his bedside and Charlie had to lean back into his pillows to be able to see all three around him.

"Alright," Charlie said softly, his jade green eyes moving to Susan, whose pretty face was turned downward into a frown, then to Lucius Malfoy whose eyes never left Hermione.

"It is good to see you, alive and in one piece," Ron began, his eyes flickering to Hermione and back to Charlie quickly. "And since you have come so late, I suppose you did not hear of the evacuation."

Charlie frowned. "Evacuation?"

Susan sighed, and spoke for the first time. Charlie did not know much about Bones except for her family and that she was in the same year as Ron.

"It spread by word of mouth just before the Inferi swept through. It was the Ministry's idea, when there was still a Ministry…"

"Fucking…" Lucius Malfoy muttered angrily, his eyes finally leaving Hermione's sleeping form to gaze evenly at Charlie. "A disaster that will go down in history, if we will still have a history left before we all die."

Ron cleared his throat. "It was an evacuation that came too late for most. With you being in Wales, it must not have gotten that far."

"My co-workers?"

Ron shook his head. "No one came from Wales."

Charlie brushed a hand over his face. "What the hell happened?"

It was Malfoy who spoke, surprising Charlie, and when Lucius Malfoy spoke; it was if he were reading from a prepared statement.

"This is what we know.

February 19th, sixty-seven people were Cursed, all who had been in or around the Ministry in London. February 20th, Inferi overtook Cornwall from the east, into Devonshire and Somerset. February 21st, the sixty-seven people were ordered to cast the Holokauston, meanwhile, the Inferi overtook Glastonbury Abbey, all of Devon, Dorset, Bristol, heading east and north. That same day, the Minister had the Seal enacted, locking us on this island with no means of escape. February 22nd, Hogwarts is attacked by legions of Inferi, and McGonagall lays the wards to protect the students and those who sought refuge here. February 23rd, the Ministry Aurory moves to eliminate all witches and wizards involved with the Holokaustion, while more refugees arrive at Hogwarts. February 24th, the evacuation order is given, and any survivors in or around London board the Hogwarts Express north. February 26th, Hogwarts is attacked again, the wards fall, three hundred die in the battle before new wards are laid. March 1st, the first of us begin to lose our magical ability—the old ones and the young ones. March 5th, we bury the dead in the grounds. March 6th, the Lords of the Forest hold conference with us; the Forest is crowded with magical creatures—centaurs, Thestrals, giants, a myriad of sentient creatures. March 7th, the centaurs take control of segregating the species; we receive our last refugees from the east.

From March 8th to May 23rd, we have been living here, the best we can. In late April, my son left for London by broom, to release the Seal. Obviously, he was unsuccessful…"

The venomous glanced Lucius Malfoy directed at Ron was blatant.

"Since we lost Draco, we have been trying to come up with a safe way to perform reconnaissance, but with the loss of magical ability, it has been difficult finding anyone trained to do it," Susan said with a sigh. "We are losing more everyday to this lack of magical ability."

Charlie glanced to Hermione, who slept quietly; her dirty hair arranged on the pillow under her head, her calloused hands folded on her belly over the sheets.

"Not all of us are losing it," Ron continued. "There seems to be a pattern…"

"He means Pure-bloods," Lucius growled. "Pure-bloods of four or more generations, like myself and many of the Death Eater families taking refuge here."

Ron groaned. "Not now, Lucius…"

Susan hissed, and Charlie frowned. There was dissonance with the 'Three,' it seemed.

"So our first question, Weasley: can you manage to get your wand up?" Lucius asked with a comical drawl.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I can, and I have."

Lucius smirked; making his face soften, appear younger. "And your companion?"

Charlie nodded. At his gesture, Ron seemed to sigh in relief.

"We can question Granger later," Bones said softly, moving to sit on the foot of Charlie's bed, weary. "But we need to know what you have seen, Weasley…"

"Yes. Have you seen anyone else alive? How did you get here?" Lucius asked.

He began slowly, just as he had with Ginny, but added in the details he had omitted for Ginny's sake. Everything from the Reserve to Cadwallader's house, then the Burrow. Charlie paused, looking to Ron, when he mentioned that Burrow's state.

"It was burnt when the Aurors were searching for dad," Ron said dully, his eyes distant. He said no more and Charlie knew that Ron could not speak any more about that matter.

Charlie told them what he found in the southwest, the lack of magic, and the devastation in Glastonbury.

"I headed for London. If there were any answers, I thought it would be there."

The 'Three' listened intently, and did not interrupt as Charlie told them about finding Hermione in Trafalgar Square. He told them about the Ministry, finding Percy and the others dead in the Minister's office. He told them about the way they died, and the list Hermione had found.

When Charlie started to tell them about finding Draco Malfoy, about the Locked Room and what Malfoy had shown them in the mirror, Lucius predictably interrupted.

"Draco was certain it was Regulus Black?"

Charlie shrugged. "He knew well enough…"

"Black was killed in '79. Except for a few photographs Cissy had, Draco would not have known it was his cousin…" Lucius mused to himself, his eyes moving, strangely, back to Hermione.

"And Black did not kill Malfoy…" Bones whispered.

"Hermione and I tried to talk Malfoy out of trying to somehow disable the Seal. Hermione threatened Malfoy, but it was no use.

I don't know what happened, but Malfoy gave us time to escape before the Ministry collapsed, literally…"

Lucius closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

Charlie continued, telling the 'Three' about the front of non-magic they had hit north of Mansfield, and the effects of using magic where there was none on Hermione. He told them about resting in Leeds, but did not mention the music they both had heard. Charlie wanted to know more about mentioning the strange Muggle music.

At the mention of Klemper, both Ron and Lucius Malfoy seemed to perk up. Charlie told them about what Klemper had said.

"He was mad, delirious. What he said could have been a mistake, a dream even. A man who controlled the Inferi, bowing to a boy?"

Ron licked his lips nervously. "Did you see a boy?"

"No. It was not until later that we saw, well, Hermione saw, Black for the first time."

Charlie summarized everything from Klemper to Hogsmeade as concisely as he could. And when silence filled the small screened off space, Charlie was searching their faces for answers.

"In the morning," Bones began, glancing to the other men. "We can speak more in the morning."

"Yes," Lucius Malfoy agreed. "There is much to consider. Though, I would like to hear from Miss Granger as well."

"In the morning," Bones repeated.

Slowly, Ron dispelled the Muffliato Charm and Bones helped Lucius to his feet, the two pushed through the screens leaving Charlie with Ron.

Ron was staring past Charlie to Hermione, his blue eyes softening. "Will she be alright?" Ron asked quietly.

"I think so. She's had a harder time than me… But we're here, we're safe."

Ron made a strange noise and met Charlie's eyes. "I would not be so sure, mate."

Before Charlie could open his mouth to ask what his younger brother meant, Ron was already walking to the foot of the bed, slipping between the screens. Charlie was left grinding his teeth in frustration. Moving his eyes to Hermione, he noticed that her face was no longer peaceful, her brow furrowed. Dreamless Sleep, apparently, was not working.

With a sigh, Charlie threw back his blankets and sat up. Scowling at his silly Hospital Wing gown, his bare feet moved over the cool stone floor. Sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed, his hand brushed her brow and at his touch, it smoothed.

Pressing a kiss into her temple, Charlie inhaled. Hermione's hair was dirty, but underneath the dirt, he could smell her—like vanilla and ginger, something intrinsically feminine. Charlie pulled away to look at her face.

They had made it, and for the moment, they were safe, no matter what Ron implied in his cryptic words.


	11. 11

**11**

Hermione woke, shooting up in the hospital cot, searching for her wand. A pale hand held it out to her, and slowly she saw Charlie sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a pair of denims and a tight black tee shirt with his trench coat and holster over top.

"Merlin…" she sighed, realising where she was and how she had gotten there. "How long have I…?"

"Just a night."

Hermione grasped her wand and lay down slowly, staring up at the high ceiling of the Hospital Wing. She licked her lips and moved her eyes to Charlie, whose gaze was distant.

"Bad news?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nothing too bad. Harry's alive."

Hermione blinked. "What?" she gasped in a whisper.

He smiled and ran the back of his left hand against her cheek. "Ginny told me. I haven't seen him yet, but he's in a coma…"

Charlie's touch soothed her. She felt a heat run from his hand to her cheek, downward into her body.

"Pomfrey's been by, ordering more rest, but I very much doubt you'll follow that order…"

Hermione smirked. "I want to know what is going on. What do the people here know?"

Charlie nodded. "Ron and the others will surely be by soon…"

Hermione listened to Charlie as he told her about Ron, Susan Bones, and Lucius Malfoy speaking with him the night before. She tried to remain calm. Charlie admitted that he did not know much, but from how the 'Three' reacted, they had had no idea about Regulus Black.

"I'll see about getting something to eat, yeah?" Charlie said finally. "I laid out a change of clothes from the knapsack in the cabinet under the table."

Hermione smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. Even as he touched her face again, Hermione wanted to be able to forget the anxiety that held her heart in a vise.

She rose after Charlie had left the screened in area, and began dressing, smirking at the fact Charlie had set out her clothes—a strangely intimate gesture. Hermione was nearly dressed, pulling up her denims when the screens shifted and a pale figure lumbered into view.

Hermione blinked at Lucius Malfoy's face. In the sunlight, his skin was like alabaster, his eyes like flint. She slowly pulled her denims up her legs, sitting on the edge of the cot, turning her eyes away from the man who leaned on two canes, his Muggle clothes taking away some of the usual austerity of his overall appearance.

He was smirking. Hermione had felt his eyes upon her thighs, her plain white knickers.

"Would you like a seat, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione said finally, begrudgingly.

Lucius Malfoy moved to the chair that Hermione had noticed after Charlie left, a poor bit of Conjuring in Hermione's estimation. Hermione regarded him coolly, taking in his Muggle denims, the dark green jumper, and the way his long silvery hair was pulled back into a ribbon. He looked ill, and the presence of canes to help him walk made Hermione wonder…

"What is it you want to know?"

Lucius Malfoy grinned. "Never has been a need for foreplay with you, my dear."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

For years after the War, Lucius Malfoy had lingered on the periphery of her life. If it was not to embarrass her in public with untoward words, it was to eviscerate her books in reviews and letters to the Prophet. Lucius Malfoy knew very well that she was the writer of the 'Mimsy the Mouse' series of children's books, commenting on blood bias, social injustice in the Wizarding world, and other issues. Lucius Malfoy was her loudest critic.

'Propaganda,' he had written, 'rubbish, perpetuating hatred toward reformed Death Eaters, and any advocate of tradition.'

In public, Lucius was overly kind, trying to always engage Hermione in some sort of witty repartee. Hermione always wondered what Mrs. Malfoy thought of her husband's behaviour toward a woman young enough to be his daughter. If Lucius Malfoy did not usually exude beauty and confidence, Hermione might think him lewd and perhaps mad.

"Charlie will be back at any moment…" Hermione began in an angry whisper.

"Afraid he might find us in a compromising position, Miss Granger. I am surprised you have latched onto another Weasley. Granted, Mr. Charles Weasley is so much more a man that his younger sibling…"

Hermione, again, rolled her eyes. "Really, Mr. Malfoy…"

"Lucius, my dear, as I always insisted before…"

" _Lucius_ , then, get on with it," Hermione ground out.

He grinned, resting his canes across his lap. "They'll come to question you, Hermione," he said unusually soft, his tone turning serious, his grin fading. "Weasley and Bones. They'll ask you about Regulus Black, just as I am about to…"

Hermione's golden eyes narrowed. "I thought I had killed him, but the Inferi move."

Lucius cocked his head to the side. "Kill the dead, my dear. How so?"

Hermione told him quietly, again regretting that she had not confirmed the kill.

"Ah yes, the Muggle firearm you were carrying, it seems that the younger Mr. Weasley has it now. Has it done you much good otherwise?"

Hermione sighed. "You might find it quite interesting, _Lucius_. With no magic, Muggle weaponry might suit your taste for horror."

Lucius chuckled. "I would not be adverse to the idea of learning, if you are my teacher, my dear… But the fact is, Regulus Black died, probably the same year you were born. And, if he did somehow live, someone must investigate the location of his supposed death…"

"What are you really trying to say, Lucius?"

There was a noise down the ward and Lucius straightened. "Find the cave, find the answer to that mystery, my dear."

Hermione heard Charlie's voice, along with Ron's. Hermione licked her lips and stared hard at Lucius Malfoy.

"They will suggest your companion should go. They are weakening, you see, and soon they will be the same as me," he whispered quickly. "They will not tell you who still has the strength to fight yet. There are few, I will say, who have so much raw magic left in them. By the end of the summer, we will die…"

The screens were parted just as Lucius finished his slightly cryptic words. Hermione was still digesting them when Charlie set a tray of breakfast on the foot of her cot, sitting down next to her.

"Lucius," Ron said softly, as way of greeting, and then drew his wand to Conjure crude chairs for himself and Susan Bones. Hermione eyed the Conjured chairs speculatively before Ron and Susan deposited themselves before her.

Hermione could feel her stomach clenching at the smell of cooked food, bacon, fresh eggs, non-moldy toast, and real butter.

"We're sorry, Granger," Susan began, "I know it is early and you are surely hungry, but we must speak with you."

Hermione studied Susan's pretty face, but could see, as if it were written upon her eyes. Susan was powerless, the marrow sucked out, and she was dying. The sight frightened Hermione. As she turned her attention to Ron, she saw only pain.

Charlie had mentioned that Ron's face was disfigured and in the morning light streaming in from the high windows of the ward, the scar looked terrible.

"Charlie has told us of his trials, we should like to hear what you have discerned so far," Ron said with an air of superiority.

Hermione stiffened and then she felt Charlie's hand move behind her to touch the small of her back.

She began telling the 'Three' where she had been when it all began.

* * *

Charlie and Hermione ate, silently, upon her cot after the 'Three' had left. Breakfast was cold, the coffee almost icy. Albeit cold, the food was wonderful to Hermione.

Charlie explained that Hogwarts now had an overabundance of elves, some of the refugee families bringing their elves with them. Hermione smiled at the thought of elves, and the memories she had of a time when her naiveté made things so much simpler.

"I spoke with Ginny again, she said there's over one thousand here, men, women, children, old folk. Some are still well, their ability intact, others who are dying. The worst are down the ward.

Food is growing scarce, since there is no way to bring any into the castle. She said there have been fights between families about various, trivial things. The usual kind of thing when you try to force one thousand people into a castle, I suppose."

Hermione smiled absently, almost unintentionally, as she chewed on her toast.

"Some of the Professors are holding classes for the younger students, just to keep them occupied. The adults help with the older students."

"Have many students…died?"

Charlie did not know. "There are no longer any Houses, not officially. Lessons are basic, Ginny said, maybe a group of ten or more to each professor. McGonagall is mainly working to keep the castle and grounds in order, along with some remaining Ministry folk who were on holiday before everything happened."

Hermione nodded. "And…the music?" she ventured.

Charlie paused, his cold coffee poised at his lips. "No mention," he whispered.

Hermione frowned. She had said nothing of it, as Charlie had said nothing.

"I want to go," she whispered vaguely, her eyes moving to the high windows.

"What do you mean?"

Hermione shook her head and smiled. "I don't know. I just want to see Harry."

Charlie set his coffee down and reached to cup Hermione's cheek. "He's just down the ward…"

The scrape of the screens forced Hermione to blink and Charlie drop his hand.

"Hermione."

Ron stood in the gap between the screens, still in his dragon hide armour.

"Come with me."

Charlie's face contorted and his mouth opened, and Hermione knew it was to rebuff his brother. Hermione rose quickly, and in passing Charlie, ran a hand over his chest.

"It's alright," she whispered, and moved to Ron's dreary, scarred face.

She followed Ron as he limped down the ward, past screened off cots, past an exhausted looking Pomfrey and a few women carrying clean linens. Hermione followed Ron out into the corridor to the portrait hall and toward the other end of the castle. When Ron opened the door for the DADA classroom, it was to find the desks pushed away to the walls and lines of cots lining the room. Several people that Hermione did not know, watched her as she followed Ron down the row to the steps leading up to the DADA professor's office.

It was then that Hermione wondered who had been teaching DADA.

The office was large; Hermione had only ever been inside twice, once during Remus' tenure and again when the stonewalls were painted pink. The second time, the memory, made Hermione grimace. However, as she stepped inside the third time, it was to find the office much as she remembered it with Remus. The cases full of oddities and horrors were gone, but in the front section was only a desk with a chair, parchments on the desktop, forgotten.

Ron pushed through a curtained partition, glancing back for Hermione to follow. Closing the door behind her, Hermione continued to follow.

"This is for you," Ron had said when she stepped into the back part of the office.

Hermione frowned, looking about. A fire raged in the fireplace across from a large bed with an arching canopy of red velvet. There was an oaken writing desk under the large casement window, and a large traveling trunk open with clothes, Ron's she supposed. There was even a small lavatory off the room; something Hermione had never known existed.

Ron sat down in an armchair next to the fire, leaning forward to throw a log from a small, enchanted wood box, onto the fire. Hermione stood still, taking in the room, unsure of what to say or how to ask why she was there.

"Have a seat then, get comfortable. I doubt you've had much comfort on the road," Ron said, motioning to the adjacent armchair.

Hermione hesitated. "What did you mean by this is for me?"

Ron's disfigured left eye twitched while the right side seemed to turn up into a smile.

"Your room, your place here, with us."

Hermione sat slowly, sinking into the leather chair near the fire, the heat scalding on the fronts of her legs.

"What is this? A scheme to have me do something…"

Ron's face contorted. "Of course not, luv. You need a place, and I thought you'd like this room with me…"

Hermione blinked, hoping she was mishearing her old friend and ex-lover. "With you?" she asked incredulously.

Ron's face moved again, this time into a frown. "Is the idea so terrible?"

Hermione looked to the fire. "Ron…" she sighed. "Whatever idea hatched in your head…it is ludicrous and ill-borne."

"Hermione…"

She rose, hugging herself. "What is that you really want, Ronald?"

Ron said nothing for a long while, watching Hermione pace on the rug before the foot of the bed.

"Nothing."

"Liar," she whispered.

Ron tried to speak, stuttering, and then, when he could manage words, it was just as Lucius had said.

"You don't realise, Hermione, how terrible it has been here… There's a food shortage, shortage of potions ingredients, medicines. So few can fly, or defend themselves…"

Hermione stopped in her pacing, hugging herself tighter.

"You want me to forage."

Ron's disfigured face tried to look sheepish, and failed.

"Did you hear nothing Charlie and I said?"

Ron did not answer as Hermione huffed and threw herself into the adjacent chair.

"I nearly killed myself trying to use magic when there was none. There are places where the magic, which is in very bedrock of this island, is gone. Not to mention Inferi, and the fact that I do not know who my enemy is or how to stop him."

Ron gazed at her, unfazed, and it unnerved Hermione.

"The tactical situation, you and the other two have surely been handling things here?"

"Of course, the best we can."

Hermione rested her left elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her temple on her fist. "You know your numbers. You know who is 'ill' and who is not. You know how much food you have to know you do not have enough. Have you even bothered to see who can fly on a broom and who cannot?"

Ron sighed. "No. It was hard enough getting together a guard to watch the grounds. Everyone is frightened, even after months of huddling here, unsure as to why we are dying off, one by one."

"But not everyone is," Hermione said softly.

Ron shook his head, his short ginger hair catching the murky sunlight coming in from the casement window. "Not everyone."

"Who?"

Ron hesitated, shifting in his chair. "George seems fine, Lucy, Audrey, mum. Part of the guard that you met last night, Muggle-borns and half-bloods. But it is hit and miss. Lucius believes that Pure-bloods with four or more generations of blood purity are the most susceptible.

Some lose strength, but do not waste away like others, dying. Lucius manages to stay alive somehow, with almost no magical ability. Susan has none left. I am growing weaker even, and Ginny…

But there are some that are almost stronger after all, as if they can focus magic easier than they ever could before. Some of the children, the students, are mostly unaffected…"

Hermione stared at Ron coolly. "Who is strongest?"

Again, Ron hesitated. Then, "Creevey, Finch-Fletchley, Finnegan, Hannah Longbottom, Katie and Marcus Flint, and some of the children, Teddy Lupin, Gavin Chang-Davies, and Guin Bletchley. They are the only ones we have identified to have heightened magical ability. Then there is Charlie, and you…"

Of the children, Hermione only knew Teddy. She figured he must be a First Year. As for the others, Hermione knew who the parents were, but not the children or how old.

"There are others, we are sure, but they will not make themselves known. Fear keeps them from revealing themselves. Shell-shocked, I guess…"

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes moving to the fire again.

"We want to organise those who still have some ability left, those who do not have children to attend to, or family left…"

Ron's words were cold, but Hermione knew, deep down, Ron was just as shell-shocked as those in the castle.

"You and Charlie know what is out there, where we can go to forage for food and medicine, no matter if it is Muggle or not."

Hermione sighed, bringing her thoughts back to the moment. "You want us to go as lead."

Ron nodded. "If we could get everything in one place, as a group, it would hold us for a while, until we can somehow find a way to fight back. The problem is, we have been dug in for so long, and so many have died, I doubt we can fight back.

Malfoy failed to release the Seal, and there is no way to remove it now…"

Ron sounded doubtful, and Hermione wondered how much Ron did know about the Seal. In fact, as she studied Ron's disfigured face, she wondered what he had been up to since the last time she had seen him.

When had been the last time, she wondered?

It was after the ceremony bestowing the Order of Merlin, certainly, but that had been eight years before. Maybe it had been at a naming ceremony or a birthday party for one of the Weasley children? Hermione shook her head of those memories, causing Ron to frown.

Hermione knew Ron had been an Auror, along with Harry, but was he an Auror when the Seal was enacted?

"We will get the maps ready, and the brooms. I'll have Susan start talking to people, discreetly. Lucius will want to meet with you about what should be needed…"

Hermione snorted at the mention of Lucius. When had a Malfoy been such a humanitarian? Then again, Hermione supposed the Lucius wanted to survive, just like everyone else in the castle.

"Who is left of the Order?" Hermione asked, interrupting Ron's audible musings.

Ron paused, blinking, causing the left side of his face to distort. "Us. Hagrid, who is helping to keep peace in the Forest... McGonagall is taking care of the students, keeping some normality to everything. Most of those attached to the Ministry are gone.

Much of the DA is here; some are, luckily, outside of Britain. Luna, Parvati, Lee Jordan, a few others…"

Hermione nodded. "And Death Eaters?"

Ron scoffed. "Too many. The Goyles and Crabbes, only Lucius and Astoria Malfoy are left, the Parkinsons sans Pansy who was one of the 'sixty-seven,' the Notts, the Averys, even the MacNairs."

"And Azkaban?"

Ron rubbed the stubble on his chin and shrugged. "No word. It's probably safer to stay there than be roaming the countryside."

Hermione smirked. There were still many in Azkaban that would like nothing more than to see many witches and wizards die, not mention the entire Muggle population.

"We try to keep everyone calm, accommodate them as best we can in the castle. It is still a rough job… I sometimes wish I had not volunteered my name for the lottery…"

"Lottery?"

Ron nodded. "That's how we were chosen. At first, after the last full-scale assault, everyone decided that a special council should be chosen. It was volunteer basis, and there were not many volunteers. There were five, at first. Me, Malfoy Sr. and Jr., Bones, and Ambrosius Flume. Flume was old; he died not long after Augusta Longbottom, leaving four.

Then Malfoy Jr. volunteered to release the Seal… No one else would go. Some good that did…" Ron trailed. "Now we are the 'Three,' and if we do not find food soon, we will lose all sense of order in this place," Ron spat.

Silence filled the room as Hermione and Ron stared into the fire. When Ron spoke again, the subject had changed.

"You and Charlie…" he began, softly. "You two are…"

Hermione shifted in her chair. "Together? In a manner of speaking."

Ron said nothing, never taking his blue eyes off the fire. Hermione could see the left, ruined corner of his mouth twitch and she wondered if there was some nerve damage associated with the scar.

"George and I thought for the longest time that Charlie might be gay…"

Hermione started laughing as Ron's eyes moved from the fire. The laughter started softly until Hermione could not hold it back any longer, and cackled. Ron's mouth twitched and slowly, he smiled.

"It seems like I have not heard laughter in months," Ron said over Hermione's guffaw.

Hermione felt tears in the corners of her eyes and wiped them away as her laughter began to end. She had not had a good laugh in a long time either.

"Even with students here, and George trying to entertain everyone, few have laughed," Ron murmured, bringing back the darkness.

Ron rose stiffly. "Keep the room. Several families have already found their own places in the castle; some prefer to keep in groups. The Hospital Wing should remain clear, unless you are ill…"

Ron limped to the curtain, about to slip through when Hermione's voice stopped him.

"Harry…" she started, Ron turning to look at her as she peeked over the back of the chair. "He was the only one of the 'sixty-seven' to survive?"

Ron turned toward Hermione, a frown on his disfigured face. "If you call it 'surviving,' Hermione.

If Harry pulls through somehow, it would be a miracle. Pomfrey is not hopeful. Between the strongest Imperius known to wizard kind and Ginny's Stunner, Harry will probably never wake. In a way, I hope he doesn't."

Hermione was on her feet. "What do you mean by that?" she growled.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "I don't think he could handle the world as we know it coming to an end.

What did that Muggle poet say, the one you always liked so much…about the world ending?"

Hermione took a trembling breath, "'This is the way the world ends; not with a bang, but a whimper.'"

Ron nodded. "And we are whimpering, luv…"

* * *

At noon, Hermione had been hugged and kissed more in several hours than she had been in a lifetime. She had left her new abode to find several people waiting for her in the crowded DADA classroom. First, it had been Lavender Brown, then Padma Patil who apologised for being so brusque the night before, and said she was working in the Hospital Wing. There were others, some Hermione remembered from school, and some she did not.

By the time she made it to the History of Magic classroom and to the remnants of the Weasley family, Hermione felt wrought out. So many people had come up to her, so many people who were warm with life, but cold with fear. Hermione was not sure what these people wanted from her, they did not ask questions. Perhaps it was because she had made it to Hogwarts alive, she could not be sure.

Hermione found Molly and Ginny sitting together in a makeshift tent in the corner of the large classroom, cots and belongings crammed into the niche while Lucy Weasley, Percy's oldest was reading from her Potions textbook with her uncle George under one of the casement windows. Molly had somehow managed to make a small smokeless fire in a magical brazier to heat and light the enclosed niche. Audrey was sleeping on one of the cots while Molly and Ginny sat on Conjured poufs around the brazier.

At the sight of Hermione, both women rose and embraced her. Molly was weeping, and to see her swollen face, it seemed Molly had been weeping for a very long time. Sitting next to Ginny, Molly asked how Hermione was feeling.

"Better. I'm just shocked, I suppose."

Ginny's arm wrapped about Hermione's shoulders. "I would think so, after being out there…"

Hermione said nothing.

"It is wonderful to see you, darling," Molly said, finally mastering her emotions. "And with Charlie…Merlin, you have no idea how happy I am."

Ginny nodded. "We had feared the worst. No one has come from Wales…"

Hermione nodded. "It was fortunate that we found each other in London. Charlie saved me more than once there, and all the way north…"

"He is such a good boy," Molly sighed. "His hair is too long, he's too thin, but he's alive."

The women chattered on while Hermione listened. All the while, she heard nothing about the 'music,' or about the fact that the lawn between the castle and the gates were littered with graves. Molly did not speak about her dead husband or grandchildren. Hermione could feel Ginny's anxiety as Molly finally spoke of Jaime who was faring poorly in the Hospital Wing.

"Poppy won't let us stay long now. Ginny's beside herself, a child and a husband in there…"

"Mum, that's enough," Ginny finally said, sternly. The tone made Lucy pause in her reading and George to frown at Molly. "We've dwelled on that for too long. Poppy has Jaime stable, and Harry too…"

Molly's eyes were swimming with tears again. "Yes, yes, you're right."

Conversation turned to the rumour of food rationing when suddenly there was a sound of a throat clearing outside the makeshift tent. Ginny rose before anyone else and pushed the flap aside.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ginny…" a soft, elegant female voice said. "But Father is demanding to speak with Miss Granger."

"Astoria, dear, come in," Molly called.

Hermione peered around Ginny to look at Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, a girl she barely remembered. Hermione knew her older sister Daphne, and found that Astoria was far prettier than Daphne with long golden blonde hair and large green eyes. Astoria wore a beautiful bustled dress, haute couture compared to what the rest of the refugees were wearing.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I really cannot stay. Father sent me as he is not feeling well, and after I bring Miss Granger to him, I must really see about getting the Malfoy elves working better with the others…"

Molly chuckled as Hermione rose. Hermione was surprised that the Weasleys and the Malfoys were on a first-name basis. In addition, it seemed that Astoria Malfoy was friendly with the Weasley women. Hermione moved to Ginny's side, gazing at Astoria. At that sight of Hermione, Astoria studied her from head to toe, and then smiled oddly.

"I'll be by later," Hermione whispered to Ginny, who nodded and stepped back to let Hermione pass under the flap, which she realised was an old and worn Persian rug.

Astoria led Hermione around the cots in the room, no one bothering to look up. Hermione had to double her pace to keep up with Astoria's long strides. The woman, now a widow, was taller by at least five inches.

When they began descending into the dungeons, Hermione snorted. Astoria glanced back, and spoke to her directly for the first time.

"You're thinking: typical, right?"

Hermione smirked. "Right."

Astoria drew her wand from a sash about her waist, out of dark green taffeta. "I was in Slytherin, but I hated the dungeons and the dormitories down here."

The darkness of the dungeons was complete except for Astoria Malfoy's wand light.

"Father took Snape's old quarters, furthest away from the dormitories. Slughorn has the quarters attached to the Potions Lab."

"He's still here?" Hermione mused, thinking of the rotund Head of Slytherin fondly.

Astoria nodded. Hermione followed close as the cold of the dungeons and the distant drip of water made her shiver. It had been over a decade since she had stepped foot in the dungeons.

"Father is in a particular playful mood, I would be careful," Astoria warned as they stopped before a dark oak door. "He has something up his sleeve."

Hermione started to ask why Astoria would want to warn her, but already the last Malfoy wife was opening the door, the light inside blinding Hermione after the darkness.

Astoria stepped aside to let Hermione pass, her green eyes flashing with warning. When Hermione stepped inside the room, the door shut behind her and Hermione could hear Astoria's footfalls fade into the distance.

Again, Hermione was in another room that was unfamiliar. She had never been in Severus Snape's personal quarters before, and upon first inspection, was surprised. There were no green trimmed décor, no black walls, or empty windows. Instead, Hermione found herself in a room that reminded her of some Victorian drawing room with cream and mahogany papered and paneled walls. Under her feet was a hard wood floor, and the windows, magicked to overlook the Forbidden Forest, were far brighter and larger than the usual casement windows in the upper stories. Even the furniture, which was upholstered in dark browns and creams, was Victorian. And upon a chaise lounge before the large dark marble fireplace, was Lucius Malfoy.

"Do come in, my dear."

The fireplace was set into the same wall as the door and as Hermione stepped further into the room, she saw another door that was open, leading into a darker bedroom.

"Come, have a seat by the fire. It seems that the environmental Charms in this old castle have faded…"

Hermione took a breath and moved across the room to sit in a low armchair near the chaise lounge. She sat with trepidation, Lucius Malfoy's eyes watching her amusedly.

Lucius lounged on the couch; still dressed in the out-of-place Muggle clothes Hermione had seen him in earlier. His canes rested along the end of the chaise lounge, and on the other end, Lucius leaned back, regarding Hermione's face for a long moment.

"I should think Ron Weasley finally got around to asking something of you by now?"

"To lead a group of people to forage for supplies with millions of Inferi running about Britain? Yes."

Lucius snorted. "And you, being such a heroine of the age, said yes?"

Hermione frowned. "Not exactly."

Lucius' pale face grew grave. "You realise that in approximately two days time, we are going to have to ration what food we have left for about one thousand men, women and children?"

"I have been made aware."

Lucius said nothing, his grey eyes moving to Hermione's jumper and the swell of her breasts for a moment and then back to her golden eyes.

"Do you know, my dear, how much food is needed to feed one thousand hungry people?"

Hermione did not answer.

"Do you know what these people have been doing since the world ended?"

Hermione sighed. "You'll tell me…"

"Fucking."

From Lucius Malfoy's aristocratic mouth, the foul word was almost clean.

"Repopulation, many are thinking, trying in vain to keep the magical race alive."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And you bring this up because?"

Lucius' mouth twisted into a predatory grin. "I've been looking for a new wife, now that my progeny has died. Draco and Scorpius have died, my son killed my wife out of necessity, and taking my daughter-in-law will raise eyebrows…"

"You are disgusting…"

"That I am, my dear, but I am also practical…"

"This is not the time for this rubbish, Lucius."

Lucius' pale eyebrows rose. "Of course not, but I thought I would lay the offer on the table before someone else approaches you."

Hermione stood, and began moving to the door.

"You haven't heard my offer yet, Miss Granger…"

Hermione's hand grasped the doorknob, and she paused, staring into the fine wood grain of the door. "I have more important things to do…"

"Such as finding out why Regulus Black is strangely alive?" Lucius asked coolly.

It was bait, she knew, but by the twist in Lucius' question, it was clear that he had something to tell her. With a groan, Hermione released the knob and returned to the chair to face Lucius again.

"I was not often in the confidence of the Dark Lord, but he did tell me, after learning that his precious locket had been taken by Black in '79, about his Inferi in the cave…how special they were. The Dark Lord talked far too much, boasting about his 'achievements.'"

Hermione shifted in the armchair, resting her elbows on the rests, listening.

"They were made of villagers in Cornwall. He did not take them all at one time, of course. It seemed that over the years, the Dark Lord took indigents, criminals, and troublemakers off the hands of the Muggles. Perhaps the only good he did do…

He picked those who were tenacious in life, killing them only to raise them again to be the guardians of the cave. I have never been to this cave myself, but the Dark Lord thought it to be one his greatest works of spellcraft. Of course, this was a mistake as Black was able to take the locket, only to be dragged down by the Inferi himself. Supposedly…

But the most important thing the Dark Lord had said about his Inferi was that they were more like golem than actual Inferi. Souls were still bound in the dead bodies, giving them some degree of free will and, dare I say, life?"

She considered the words. "Black can use magic because he is a golem?"

Lucius grinned. "A theory that I developed this morning."

Hermione blinked. Golem were supposedly creatures made from inanimate matter…

"It is worth thinking about, I suppose," Hermione conceded.

"You should also think of my offer… It does not have to be marriage…"

"And you say this because I am what? Strong? Because I still can use magic?"

"In part. You are young, you are fertile…"

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "And because you have some perverse desire to humiliate me."

Lucius chuckled. "If you say so, my dear."

"I am not some breeding mare, Lucius."

"That you certainly are not. All the same, there will be others who will approach you, other families that have the instinctual need to continue their blood line, those who will stoop to take a Muggle-born to keep their power 'alive.'"

Hermione fidgeted, exhaling slowly. "I think the matter of necessity would come first, then trying to stop our civilization from being destroyed a close second."

"You would consign repopulating this country as third?"

Lucius' pale, handsome face even more beautiful with the smirk. Hermione studied his face, and could not deny that there was a fey beauty to his features. He was aged, but not elderly…

"I will think about this 'offer' later… If at all."

Lucius seemed rebuffed. "Very well then, but remember, I asked first."


	12. 12

12

Charlie found Hermione standing in the open doors in the Entrance Hall, watching as two men were piling dirt onto another grave. She was not aware of him at first as he moved to stand behind her only a breath away. However, when he began to reach out to touch her shoulder, she turned. Hermione crashed into his arms.

Inhaling her scent, Charlie embraced her, the top of her head coming up just under his chin. She sighed into the front of his shirt, her hands grasping the back in a tight hold.

Charlie could feel people watching as they moved through the Entrance Hall, but it did not matter. There were smiles and kindness in those faces, but there was also disinterest and even derision. Hermione seemed more keenly aware of the darker glances and whispered that they should talk somewhere more private. Charlie did not disagree.

Ron had found Charlie only moments before to inform him of the DADA office, Charlie's new abode. Ron had been short, and Charlie, after following Hermione back to the room, knew why.

"He wanted me to stay here, with him," Hermione said, falling into one of the chairs by the fireplace. "I am not sure why he think I would…"

Charlie mimicked Hermione's motion, sitting across from her. "Because he has loved you for a very long time."

Hermione huffed. "He has a strange way of showing it. Ron was never overly affectionate, not in public. But when he thought he might lose me, jealousy overruled any notion of tenderness," Hermione grumbled. "Besides, Ron and I broke up in 2000, ten years ago!"

Charlie said nothing, but studied Hermione's face, noting how tired she seemed. He wondered that in coming back to Hogwarts really meant that they would be safe. At least they had a place to call home again, but like everything, as one gets older, the charm was gone—or so it felt to Charlie.

"It will be fine," Charlie said softly as Hermione seemed to fume from some old anger she held within. "There are more important things to think about now."

Hermione sighed. "Ron spoke to you about foraging?"

Charlie shook his head. "Bones. She ambushed me while I was talking to Oliver Wood and his family in the Great Hall earlier."

"What did you tell her?"

Charlie shifted in his chair grasping his hands before him, his elbows on the arms. "I told her that going out to forage would be dangerous. Depending on where one went, they could become stranded if a front of un-magic, as I have been calling it, were to appear… Not that we really know anything about what happened before…"

"True," Hermione added.

"And the 'Three' have not been forthcoming with answers to my questions either."

Hermione's eyes glittered and a strange smile crossed her lips.

"Lucius suggested that someone find the Horcrux cave."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "You?"

"It was implied, but the issue of a food shortage seems far more important. If they start to ration, I would hate to see what would happen."

"People would try to leave on their own…"

Hermione nodded again. "I think we were lucky, Charlie. Lucky that we were together to make it this far…"

Charlie smiled. "I think so too. However, being here…"

"It is suffocating."

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, forming a tacit agreement.

"I'll see what brooms I can find. You might consult with the 'Three' about where to go.

If we can find a 'bottomless bag,' that would be ideal, as well as some manpower…"

Hermione nodded. "Ron mentioned a few who might be able to help."

"Leave that to me."

They fell silent again, jade green meeting gold.

"You'll need to tell them about what we heard," Charlie said softly.

Hermione sighed. "I have been listening to what everyone has been saying. No one has mentioned it…"

"They haven't because they're afraid everyone might find them mad."

Hermione frowned. "I don't think so, Charlie. I honestly do not think they have heard the music."

Charlie leaned forward in his chair. "If they leave Hogwarts, they will hear it."

"Maybe. I just hope that those who are strong enough to go, will."

* * *

The 'Three' seemed to hold 'court' in Snape's old quarters, and Hermione found herself sitting next to Lucius on the fainting couch with a low table before them, an ancient map spread out before them. Ron and Susan stood near the fire, listening to Hermione's words.

"Oban is closest, and small enough to be able to go in and out without attracting the notice of the Inferi. If we fly to the hospital first…" Hermione pointed to a floating marker, which resulted from a clever Charm Hermione created in her Fifth Year after studying the Marauder's Map, "We can get what medicine we need and move on to the smaller villages to forage for food."

"There might be smaller surgeries in the villages," Susan said softly.

Hermione nodded. "I just hope there is someone here in the castle that help Pomfrey figure it all out. What good is medicine if you don't know how to use it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucius grinned. "Astoria may be of help, and Padma Patil."

Hermione turned her face to Lucius. "They have formal medical training?"

Ron added his voice, finally. "Padma has studied medicine in the States with Parvati. She is a Muggle doctor."

"And Astoria, unbeknownst to Draco, was taking courses to be a chemist. Cissy and I encouraged her. 'Tori was very good with Potions," Lucius said softly.

Hermione realized then how little she knew about her own magical community. It was sad, she thought. She had excluded herself from so much, not purposely. Hermione had always been independent and very private, perhaps too much so.

"How long do you think it will take?" Susan asked, vaguely.

Moving her eyes back to the map, Hermione's finger moved in a northeast direction back to the floating caption of 'Hogwarts' at the northeast end of Loch Etive.

"A week, maybe two. If you allow two to search for a safe haven for the night and allow for six to eight more to forage, it might only be a week," Hermione speculated.

"The only problem I can see, is manpower," Lucius mused. "Up to ten who can fly and fight…we cannot 'conscript' these people, and volunteers might be hard to find."

Ron nodded. "A week, at best, might be too long…"

"What choice do we have, Ron?" Susan sighed. "If we start slowly implementing rationing now, it will work. We'll have one hell of a time explaining to some families why they cannot have their elves bring them elevensies or extra tea, but we will have to try."

Susan was eyeing Lucius coldly, but the older man only smiled.

"Brooms, bottomless bags, manpower, is there anything else, Hermione?" Ron asked, his disfigured face emotionless as he studied her.

Hermione licked her lips and pulled her hand back into her lap. "Weapons. Any kind of projectile weapons. Guns, preferably, but as it is, we are at Hogwarts, I doubt we will find an arsenal in one of the broom cupboards."

"It might be something to add to the list to forage, if you can find it…" Lucius again, mused.

Again, Hermione's eyes scanned the map of Scotland. When her eyes settled upon Fort George outside of Inverness, she grinned. "I doubt that this trip will allow for the time, but another, smaller trip to Inverness might not hurt…"

"That is, if we should need Muggle armaments," Lucius purred.

Ron sighed. "Considering the way things are going, I'm not adverse to the idea of having added protection. There is a finite number of Inferi. If we can somehow diminish the number outside the walls, it would be set many minds at ease."

"Which brings us to the second matter of necessity."

Hermione turned to look at Lucius, whose face was still and grave.

"Finding out who is controlling these creatures, and cutting the strings by taking out the puppet master."

"But we have already established that it is not just the 'puppet master' we must contend with, Lucius," Ron growled, leaning into the wall next to the fireplace, his arms crossed before his chest.

"True," Lucius drawled, shifting next to Hermione so that he leaned closer to her right side. Hermione cleared her throat when she felt his fingertips on the small of her back. "I have already mentioned to Miss Granger the need to go back to the source, to Cornwall and to the Horcrux cave."

Susan snorted. "You want  _her_  to go? No offense, Granger, but I hope Mr. Malfoy is not suggesting that you go."

Hermione shrugged to Susan. "I would not be the best person to go, Susan. If anyone, it is Harry, he knows where it is and how to enter the cave…"

"And Mr. Potter is in a coma, Miss Granger. The only people that were close to him during that 'dark' time are in this room. Surely, between yourself and Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter had divulged enough to allow you to locate the cave and pass inside?"

Ron was staring at Hermione, intensely. Hermione finally had to look away as Lucius' fingers had slipped under the hem of her shirt to touch her skin. She stood slowly, and moved toward the door.

"I will have to leave matters to you three, it seems. If you choose to utilize my suggestions, I would ask that you consider Charlie and I as two who should go… I would also like to know who you choose to go as well…" Hermione said softly, noting that Lucius' face was shuttered although he smirked at her.

Ron rubbed the left side of his face, turning to Hermione. "We'll discuss it tonight. In the morning…"

"Yes, in the morning," Susan echoed, her eyes on the fire and not Hermione.

* * *

Marcus and Katie Flint were sitting with Charlie in the front section of the DADA office, sipping on Firewhiskey. Hermione was surprised to see the couple, smiling at something Charlie had said. At Hermione's entrance, Marcus and Charlie rose, their hands moving for wands.

Hermione blinked. "Hello?"

Katie chuckled as the two men sat down, glasses of Firewhiskey in their hands. "Never mind them, Hermione, they thought you might be Ron or Susan."

Katie Bell-Flint was just as pretty as Hermione remembered from school. Her long dark brown hair and deep hazel eyes were vibrant, and the years had kept her fit. Hermione knew that she had married Marcus Flint not long after the Battle of Hogwarts, and always wondered how that pairing had come about.

Marcus Flint was still large, but not so trollish after so many years. He had fixed his teeth at some point, and sitting next to Katie, the man was almost handsome. His hooded black eyes studied Hermione for a moment, and apparently finding her to be of no threat, smiled.

Hermione locked the door behind her. "Charlie?"

Charlie was sitting behind the parchment covered desk with Katie and Marcus on a Conjured loveseat near the smaller fireplace in the front portion of the office.

"It's alright, Hermione," Charlie said softly. "We were just discussing a few names…people we were talking about earlier."

Hermione nodded, stepping away from the door to lean into the front of the desk. Charlie's jade green eyes ran over her for a moment before turning back to the Flints.

"I was saying that this 'Three' or whatever you want to call 'em, really have no idea what to do other than poke their noses into a family's business," Flint muttered in his deep, gruff voice.

"You've just had an 'audience' with them, Hermione, what do you think?" Katie asked, holding a smaller glass of Firewhiskey on her knee, a finger tracing the rim.

"I do not know yet," Hermione began, glancing to Charlie. "They seem too cautious about what they do or do not know…"

Charlie smirked. "I was just telling Marcus and Katie what we have noticed," he said to Hermione. "Those who still can use their magical ability, and who they are."

"Ron mentioned you both," Hermione muttered, drawing her wand and promptly Conjuring a higher chair, leather upholstery and high back, in dark blue. When she sat down, Katie winked at her, strangely.

"Who else did he mention?" Marcus asked before taking in the last snort of whiskey from his glass.

Hermione rattled off the names, including the names of the children.

"What would you say if we told you that there were at least twice that many?" Marcus asked, using his wand to Summon the bottle of Firewhiskey from the desk, Conjure a new glass and pour the liquid inside. When he stretched to offer Hermione the glass, she took it, but did not drink.

"I would not be too surprised. Ron thinks that those people want to remain anonymous, thinking that they would be used in some way against their will."

"Well, Ron is right about that," Katie sighed. "Of course, I am saying this because we are two people who have full control over our abilities. We volunteered to help keep order and guard the castle. But there are others who are afraid. They still want to help in some way, but not under the 'command' of the 'Three.'"

Hermione frowned as she finally took a sip of her whiskey, cringing as it burnt a path to her stomach. "Meaning," she gasped, and then cleared her throat. "Meaning that these people are not happy with the lottery and the appointment of those comprising the Council?"

"To put it simply," Marcus muttered refilling his own glass.

"No one of any real magical ability is part of the 'Three,'" Katie said with a sigh. "It is not their fault, it was the luck of the draw. All three are intelligent, all three are resourceful, but there is a growing resentment toward them and to people like us who has not lost our abilities."

Hermione could see the truth of Katie's words, and the problems that might arise.

"I was just telling them about the plan to go out and forage," Charlie said, his voice rougher after a few sips of whiskey during Katie's words. "I also told them that if we wanted to be successful, we would have to rally those who do have their magical ability."

"A wise thing," Marcus said as he wrapped an arm about Katie. "We will go, and I'm sure we can get Creevey and a few others…"

"Ten, at the least," Hermione said, already feeling the effects of the whiskey in her body. "I told the 'Three' that we should not get too far from Hogwarts. I suggested Oban in the south…"

Katie hummed into her glass, as if to say something, but Marcus spoke instead.

"We know Oban. Katie's great-aunt lived on the seashore near there."

"And I know exactly where the Lorn and Islands District is… My great-aunt died there a few years back after a bout with pneumonia…." Katie added.

Hermione glanced to Charlie, who nodded.

"There are plenty of villages between here and there that can be foraged. I'm sure that if we had a week, we could come back with plenty of food and medicine for everyone," Hermione murmured, having sipped again from her whiskey glass.

She continued telling the Flints what she had suggested to the 'Three,' seeing that the couple had no qualms with her plan. However, when Hermione mentioned 'haven,' the questions about her and Charlie's travel north were voiced.

"Why do you think the Inferi would not go to those sorts of places?" Katie asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but shut it, as Charlie answered for her.

"We have theories, but it seemed to me, at least, that these places were special somehow."

Finally, Hermione spoke. "It was not just churches, but common places. Pubs, inns, other structures. It was if there was an old magic running underneath our feet, something not yet drained away."

Marcus seemed intrigued. Katie, however, seemed troubled.

"We came up by broom from Newcastle just after the Seal was enacted," Katie said softly, her hazel eyes distant. "When we felt the Seal, we packed what we could and left just before the Inferi came…"

"We saw the black cloud of the Curse," Marcus continued. "And we were fine. We knew we had to leave the house, and go. Everything felt wrong, smelled wrong. The Muggles were dead or dying, and then the fires started in Newcastle.

When we got here, people were fighting the Inferi back, and soon, so were we. So many died before McGonagall could lay the wards again… But all that time, we could never see who was controlling 'em."

Charlie sighed. "I could tell you who we think, or thought, was controlling them, but I doubt you would believe me…"

Hermione listened as Charlie told the Flints about the Ministry, Draco Malfoy, and Regulus Black. They were stunned, but speculative. When Charlie finished, Katie frowned.

"But it is not just the one. It couldn't be. Who could have cast the Imperius on those people?"

"We think," Marcus growled, "'We' meaning those who still have their abilities, think that it started in London at the Ministry. We know who the sixty-seven were now, and all were in or around London just before."

Charlie told the Flints what the 'Three' had said about that matter, agreeing with Marcus.

"'We' think that whoever this mystery witch or wizard is, might be here, in the castle with us…" Katie added darkly.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Why do you think that?"

Katie shook her head. "As Charlie said, you wouldn't believe me if I told you, Hermione."

"Try us," Charlie said, leaning forward in his chair.

The Flints glanced to each other, some wordless communication taking place. Finally, Marcus shrugged and answered.

"The music, we have all heard it here. We, who still can use our magic…"

Hermione stood suddenly, placing her empty glass on the edge of the desk, and began pacing. She was disturbed and elated at the same time.

"You've heard it then?" Marcus asked Charlie as Hermione began chewing on her thumbnail.

"Yes," Charlie whispered in a soft voice. "A Muggle tune…"

"'Cheek to cheek,'" Katie said soberly.

"We do not speak of it," Marcus grunted, shifting on the loveseat. "We do not sing or hum it."

Hermione stopped her pacing, coming back to her Conjured chair. "Who exactly has heard it?"

Marcus sighed. "Creevey, he was the one who told us what it was."

"And Hannah…she told me that just before Neville started to Curse Hogsmeade, he was humming it. Like some sort of trigger that set him off…she heard him sing it along with what she heard on the wind," Katie whispered.

Hermione shivered. "Who else?"

Marcus blinked at Hermione. "Millie Bulstrode, Ollie Wood and his wife Joanna, Finnegan, Theo Nott, Cho Chang, Slughorn, and McGonagall. None of the children have heard it, none who still have their abilities. We know, 'cause we asked…"

"We hear it all the time now, in the Great Hall, sometimes in the Hospital Wing, on the grounds. Even the centaurs have heard it," Katie muttered with a hint of anger. "Hagrid hears it, but not very well. And as far as we know, we were the only ones. We've all talked about it when we got here, and we all agreed that we would never tell anyone until we could find a way to know what it meant."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a breath. Viktor's theory was wrong. It was not magic calling to magic, not truly.

"And you think it has to do with whoever used those people to cast the Curse because of what Hannah Longbottom said?" Charlie asked.

"It was not just that," Marcus grumbled. "We started hearing it when the 'sixty-seven' acted. When Newcastle fell, that was when we first heard it, clear as a bell…"

"We all talked about it, and we agreed. The one behind all of this is here, at Hogwarts," Katie said resolutely.

"That's why we don't trust most folk, that's why we keep to ourselves, go out to volunteer our ability. Not all of us, but most of us… We keep separate, watching, waiting…"

"Until we can find him or her, and act," Katie finished.

The office fell silent, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Hermione and Charlie met eyes, and between them, a dread shared.

"First things first," Marcus grunted, rising and wandlessly Vanishing his empty glass. "We'll talk to Creevey and a few others before the 'Three' draft 'em to go. I know there's a few that would be glad to get away for a while, no matter the danger. I know we'd be glad to go…"

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked. "You both are fantastic with a broom, but the risk that one of you might…"

"We know the risk, Charlie," Katie said with a small smile. "And we know what is at risk if we  _don't_  go…"

Hermione watched as Marcus took the half empty bottle of Firewhiskey and capped it, shrinking it and slipping it into the pocket of his trousers. Katie had risen as well, and like her husband, wandlessly Vanished her glass and then dispelled the Conjured loveseat with a tap of her hand on the velvety upholstered arm. It was gone with a pop. Hermione was impressed.

"We'll be in touch, as will some others," Marcus said, stretching and then grasping Katie's hand. "We found a room on the third floor, near the Prefect's bathroom if you need to find us."

The couple moved to the door. Charlie rose and followed after. "Thanks for coming by, Marcus, Katie. As I said before, your trust in us is appreciated."

The Flints made their goodbyes, passing quietly out of the office while Charlie held the door. When he shut it, he locked it again, drew his wand from his jean pocket, and began casting several wards.

Hermione then watched him begin scanning the room with his wand, sweeping it for something.

"I was afraid that maybe Ron or someone else might have surveilled the room," Charlie answered when Hermione asked what he was doing.

"Do you distrust them so much?" Hermione asked from her Conjured chair.

Charlie, satisfied that the room was clear, turned to Hermione. "Distrust is not the right word. But a little distrust is healthy. And I'm not just thinking about this group everyone is calling the 'Three.'"

Hermione nodded, "Fair enough."

She left her Conjured chair and moved through the curtained partition into the other room, finding it cold without a fire in the grate. Even with Firewhiskey coursing through her, she could not stop shivering. After making a magical fire, Hermione still felt cold.

Charlie followed her, moving to the knapsack on the bed, the knapsack that still had tins of food and clean changes of clothes. Hermione noticed that the half open trunk she had seen earlier in the room was gone, Ron having given up the room on a vain hope.

Soon, she and Charlie were sitting before the fire on the floor, eating as they had for weeks, out of tins. They did not speak as the gloom of night penetrated the casement window and made the room seem darker, oppressively so.

They moved after eating, washing and dressing for sleep, Charlie in a fresh pair of plaid flannel pyjama bottoms and Hermione in the overlong matching top. They sat before the fire again, near each other, watching the flames.

* * *

Charlie held Hermione under the blankets of the soft bed, a down filled mattress below them, and a down filled duvet over them. He had been sleeping on his back, his arm curled about Hermione as she breathed softly against his chest.

He was not sure what had roused him as he stared up at the fire lit velvet canopy of the bed. Gently, Charlie slipped away from Hermione to sit on the edge of the bed, facing the partition, eyeing his wand on the bedside table.

Something felt off, and Charlie could not figure out why or how. He stood, grabbing his wand, and moved across the room. Slipping through the curtain to the front office, the dying light of the fire in the grate lit the room, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Moving to the door, Charlie could feel the hum of magic from the ward he cast, but he could also feel that someone was just outside the door.

He knew what had roused him.

Slashing his wand in the air before the door, the wards dropped and Charlie grasped the handle of the door. With a tug, the door opened to the classroom beyond and the dim interior where several sleeping bodies lay in cots and in makeshift partitions. However, standing before the door, propped up with two canes, was Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley…" he began softly.

Charlie's brows knitted in confusion. It was very late, past midnight, and Malfoy was alone and sweating slightly.

"I wonder if I might have a word with Miss Granger."

Charlie cocked his head, incredulous. Lucius Malfoy was not in the Muggle clothes Charlie had noticed before, but in the dark resplendent finery, that Charlie always associated with the man. If it were not for the sweat on Malfoy's brow and upper lip and the canes in his pale hands, Charlie believed that Lucius Malfoy would be the image of a rich Pure-blooded Death Eater.

"She's asleep, as I should be, Mr. Malfoy," Charlie grumbled none to kindly.

Malfoy grinned. "I am sure. However, necessity demands…"

Charlie sighed. "If it is about the plan to forage, you can tell me, Mr. Malfoy, if it concerns Hermione."

Malfoy's pale brow rose. "And why is that?"

Charlie frowned. "That is none of your business,  _sir_.

If you cannot speak to me, I suggest you wait until morning."

He began to shut the door when a pale hand, still holding a cane slapped against the wood with more strength than seemed possible from a man who had lost all magical ability.

Lucius Malfoy still grinned, and it reminded Charlie of a wolf—predatory and threatening. Malfoy shuffled forward and Charlie ground his teeth.

"I will make myself known, now, young Weasley. Hermione Granger is her own woman, and I think she has had enough Weasley interference in her life. The time will soon come where she will have a choice—between who is worthy and who is not, and I am worthy."

Charlie stared hard into Lucius Malfoy's eyes, and in the deep grey depth, Charlie saw a spark. However, the spark faded and Malfoy's hand dropped from the door. With a disgusted growl, Charlie closed the door in Malfoy's face, raising the wards again and stalking back into the back of the office.

Standing next to the bed, watching Hermione sleep alone, Charlie recalled Ollie Wood's words from earlier in the day.

'They are all calling it 'courtship,' as if it were something so innocent… These old families are bickering over women as if they were chattel to be bought. It is disgusting. Trying to preserve their bloodlines, claiming that they would  _stoop_  to mate with Mudbloods and half-bloods…

Watch her close, Chuck, since you got here last night, tongues have been wagging. You  _could_  be challenged. Malfoy, Zabini, Goyle, and a few others have been itching to have a look at Hermione Granger…'

Ollie's words were beginning to ring true, and it made Charlie's stomach knot. He would be damned if he let the likes of Lucius Malfoy touch her…

Charlie sighed, setting his wand on the bed stand, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hermione slept peacefully, her hand on the mattress where he had been laying. In the dim firelight, she was beautiful. Charlie smiled softly as his fingers moved to touch her think, wavy hair as it fell over her shoulder bared from the overlarge collar of the shirt she wore.

He supposed he loved her. It had nothing to do with the fact she had been the first live person he had seen since the nightmare began; it had to do with the fact that she was who she was—bright, strong, and beautiful. Charlie loved her, he would not go anywhere without her.

It was a decision he had come to even before they coupled, and Charlie knew it had begun forming in Leeds, or perhaps when he watched her fall from the sky north of Mansfield.

He lay down, pulling the blankets up around them both and inhaled as Hermione moved her body naturally into his side.

"What was it?" she murmured sleepily.

Charlie closed his eyes. "It was nothing…sleep…"

* * *

"We were able to find six Nimbus 2001 models, two 2000s, and two Firebolts," Dennis Creevey said as ten people in all sat around the desk in the DADA office with Charlie just behind the desk.

"That's great, and the bottomless bags?" Charlie murmured as he passed Marcus Flint's never emptying bottle of Firewhiskey to Oliver Wood.

"I traded some food for Clement Crabbe's bag, and Hagrid had one that he donated," Katie said sitting on another Conjured loveseat with Marcus near the fireplace.

"Did Padma come up with a list of the medicines we'll need?" Hermione asked the group.

Dennis Creevey, the Flints, Ollie Wood, Seamus Finnegan, Cho Chang, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Theo Nott all sat in the office. It was a strange gathering of people, but all had come to Hermione and Charlie after the Flints had talked to them individually.

It was almost twenty-four hours since the Flints were last in the office, and during that time, the 'Three' had only spoken to Hermione once. They would consider her plan.

It was not good enough.

The people assembled in the room were all young, almost all except Charlie had been at Hogwarts at the same time, and all could use their magic ability. Still, some could use it better than they ever had before, as if they had grown stronger during the chaos occurring around them.

"She wrote everything down here," Cho said, pulling a small bit of rolled parchment from her pocket, passing it to the person on her left so that it moved to Hermione.

Hermione unrolled the parchment and read. Antibiotics, laxatives, antacids, alpha and beta-blockers, anticoagulants, analgesics, benzos, steroids, antihistamines, various hormones, vitamins, barbiturates, the list went on and on, but Hermione knew most of the drugs and their uses. There were also medical instruments on the list, sterile bandages, and sterilizing equipment.

"Does anyone here know what most of these things are?" Hermione asked.

Eyes moved and slowly Justin Finch-Fletchley raised a hand. "I can probably help… I failed out of medical school…but…"

Hermione said nothing, and passed the list back so that it got to Justin. "You'll be in charge of that… Now, you'll need to pack some food, a week's worth at most. One bag will be for the medical supplies, the other for food. Only tinned food, or anything that is not rotten or moldy… Stasis Charms have not worked well for us, so keep that in mind.

Do not enter any place that does not have windows or a ready source of sunlight coming in. Inferi like to huddle in dark rooms and basements. You all should know what it takes to disable them.

And if you feel something…something odd about the air while flying, land. Do not use magic, no matter how small the spell…" Hermione said, her eyes moving to each face in turn.

"If you somehow get caught after dark, get to a high place and barricade any means of the Inferi coming after. Rooftops are best. And no noise. The Inferi cannot really see, but they can hear very well. If you are caught alone, or are stranded, keep quiet, seal the exits and wait for dawn."

The group mumbled as Hermione finished, standing next to Charlie who had not thought of anything to add.

"Weasley said something about shelter at night?" Theo Nott asked, his strange violet eyes boring into Hermione's face.

Hermione nodded then looked to Charlie.

"There are places where the Inferi will not go. Two of us will look for a haven for the night while the rest forage. I will take Chang to help. When we all get there, you'll understand what we mean by 'haven,'" Charlie explained, his voice strong and mature.

As Hermione looked upon the faces, she noticed that they looked to Charlie as a sort of leader. Charlie was older, though he did not look it, and Hermione felt a sort of satisfaction that Charlie seemed so calm.

"When do we go?" Seamus asked, his jaw set. Hermione could see that Seamus was eager to get moving.

"It is a bit rushed, I know, but before dawn," Charlie said.

The group grumbled, but finally fell silent, realizing that they had to move fast. That very day, word was spread that by morning the elves were to begin rationing food.

"Get some sleep, distribute the brooms, Ollie. We meet outside of Hagrid's hut at four am.," Charlie said, standing.

"Are there any other questions?" Hermione asked as everyone began dispelling their Conjured seats.

"Be honest, Granger, how bad is it out there?" Dennis asked over the clamour of bodies moving.

Hermione sighed and then shrugged. "I cannot say, Dennis. While we were moving in the south, the Inferi were moving north, the majority of them. I supposed they were coming here, to Hogwarts. That doesn't mean that the Inferi are gone from the countryside, but we noticed that they number had lessened," Hermione murmured, glancing to Charlie again.

"Just everyone get some rest, we need keen eyes for tomorrow," Charlie announced.

Soon the group was gone, leaving in pairs, just as many had done when the DA still existed all those years ago. Hermione leaned back into the desk with her arms across her chest as Katie and Marcus left last. It was odd to her that another 'covert' group of people had come together for a common goal. It was odd to her that they would have to hide their plans from everyone when it was everyone they were trying to keep alive.

"That means us as well, Hermione."

Charlie was moving to the curtain when Hermione pushed off the desk and turned. Charlie was grinning.

As if falling into a routine, they washed up and dressed in their pyjamas. Hermione was brushing her teeth, looking at her face in the mirror over the sink when Charlie's arms slid about her waist, his face visible next to hers.

Hermione bent to spit out the mint flavoured bubbles of her toothpaste and rinse her mouth, and in doing so, her bottom rubbed against the front of Charlie's pyjama pants. He grunted while Hermione rinsed out her toothbrush, a grin forming on her lips. Rising again, Hermione could see Charlie's hooded green eyes gazing at her face in the reflection.

"There's something I want to do," he whispered, "Something I have wanted to do, but never really had the chance, considering the state of things…"

Hermione blinked, "Oh?"

Charlie's hands grasped her hips, and spun her about so that her bottom pressed into the edge of the sink. His hands grasped the waistband of her knickers, but stopped there, peering down into her golden eyes in the candlelight that lit the small lavatory.

"Considering that we should get some sleep, perhaps doing what I would like would impede getting the rest we need…"

Hermione smirked. "Then I would suggest that we put off desires…"

Charlie chuckled. "Ah, but I don't think I can stop myself now."

Before Hermione could purr a retort, Charlie had moved, stripping her knickers down her legs, simultaneously lifting her up so she sat on the edge of the sink. Hermione squeaked as Charlie knelt between her thighs, his soft and now shaggy dark red hair brushing her skin.

Grasping the top of his head to keep herself steady, Hermione gasped as his fingers parted her labia and wet, hot tongue lathed against her most sensitive flesh. Hermione was not sure what had sparked Charlie to act, but she could not complain as the tip of his tongue traced along the edges of her pussy, along the lips of the inner labia, upward to her thrumming clit.

Charlie hummed into her pelvis, creating the first nudge toward her climax. Hermione closed her eyes, letting her toes curl, and her knickers hanging from one of her ankles. She could see the scene, Charlie's pale, and scarred body kneeling on the lavatory floor before the sink. She could see the silvery scars on his back rippling over muscles that moved as his hands and head moved to lap and lick at her core. However imagined, it made Hermione whimper.

Sucking on her clit, teeth flashing against the bundle of nerves, Hermione grunted a sigh, her head tilting back, the back of her head against the mirror over the sink. Just with the pressure alone, she came with a strangled cry. It had not taken long for her to climax, and as she did, Charlie's mouth moved to her pussy, tongue delving inside, tasting. The stubble on his chin was a perfect rasp against her skin, and Hermione felt as if the orgasmic high stretched on and on as he ate her.

Hermione knew that his chin was coated with thick essence, and when he pulled away, his thumb pressing against her clit, Hermione whispered his name, opening her eyes. Green eyes gazed up at her face, pink tongue licking at a strong, pointed chin with dark red stubble. His lips were red, his cheeks flushed.

Charlie kissed her, surging up to take Hermione into his arms. She could taste herself, and him. It was slightly bitter, slightly salty, but it was like ambrosia, a mixture of something Hermione loved.

Love… Hermione allowed Charlie to help her off the sink, allowed him to pull her knickers back up her legs, his fingers brushing against the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. Hermione was sleepy, and satisfied. Charlie murmured something as they entered outer room, his wand in hand.

Hermione was slow to realize that the front of Charlie's pyjama pants had a dark, damp spot and as she slid under the blankets, she smiled.

Even as Charlie stretched out beside her, his face still flushed, more from embarrassment than arousal, Hermione smiled. She was not sure what sort of arrangement they had, whether they were really 'together' as she told Ron and Malfoy, but Hermione was finding Charlie much more than simply a companion. He was a friend, and he was her lover, of a sort.

Relationships were always complicated in her mind, and as she closed her eyes, she knew she could not think about 'relationships' at that moment. Later, she decided, later when the shadow of danger was past…if that would ever happen.


	13. 13

13

Charlie flew point; behind him were Katie Flint and Cho Chang. Ollie Wood took up the rear as the ten flew in formation over what was left of Hogsmeade in the grey hour before dawn. Glancing back, Hermione was flying next to Theo Nott on one of the 2001s, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the landscape below. Already the Inferi were growing still as the sun began to come from the east, brightening the horizon.

Only a few words were said before all took off from Hagrid's hut. Marcus and Katie had kissed quickly before mounting their brooms. Cho had kissed a pendant about her neck before slipping it under her jumper beneath her traveling cloak. Even Finnegan was crossing himself, his lips moving in a silent prayer before all mounted their brooms.

They flew through the wards, only shivering as they passed into the sky. A grave seriousness kept all their faces mask like and their eyes keen. It was like riding into battle, Charlie supposed, as he made a hand motion to have the formation take on more speed south.

Hermione flew like an expert, keeping in formation. Almost the entire group had flying experience, and those who had little seemed to have confidence enough to keep in formation and perform manoeuvres as they flew low over the mountains.

Oban would only take minutes to reach if they pushed fast enough. Even as they cut across Loch Etive, two groups split, Charlie and Cho heading due west, Hermione, and the rest heading for Oban, Katie in the lead. It was just as they planned, as the villages grew denser when they left the black waters of the loch.

The sun was just rising as the larger portion of the group headed southwest. Charlie glanced to Hermione's flying form, her long hair catching the first rays of morning. He sighed as Chang fell in beside him. They slowed as they began circling around the countryside.

"So, what is it we're looking for?" Chang shouted over the wind as they descended lower.

"You'll see."

Chang shrugged and followed Charlie as he took a sharp midair turn to cross the eastern edge of the town of Oban, flying toward the harbour.

Charlie slowed as the dark harbour waters rippled and waved below. He stopped before a slight swell of land, staring at a structure on the hill above the harbour leading out to the Firth of Lorn. Chang hovered next to him, following his eyes.

The wind was icy, unusual for June in Scotland. Charlie's eyes narrowed. Finding sanctuary seemed almost too easy.

"What's that?" Chang asked, inclining her head to the remaining tower of what was once a ruined castle.

With a grin, Charlie answered: "Sanctuary."

* * *

Five had split off over Oban, going toward the town centre while Hermione, Katie, Theo, and Justin found the hospital in the southwestern part of the town. The sun lit the side of the hospital as they approached up the drive to the Emergency Department. Carrying their brooms with wands out, they spread out around the ambulances abandoned before the front doors of the Emergency Department. There were bodies scattered on the ground, lying in heaps of dried bone and clothing, the smell not as potent as Hermione expected.

"There is a pharmacy on the backside of the Emergency ward," Katie whispered to Hermione as they set their brooms against the wall next to the automatic doors, which were open wide. "I'll take Justin, you and Theo see what you can find in the cafeteria, it's on the first floor."

Hermione nodded, glancing to Theo Nott whose violet eyes were moving inside the dark door of the Emergency Department. Katie had the bottomless bag and with a motion to Justin, they slipped inside the darkness of the Emergency Department and out of sight.

They all had agreed that if there was a message to be relayed or a problem, they would send a Patronus, and Hermione knew that both Justin and Katie had master a corporeal Patronus long ago when they were in the DA. As for Theo, who took the lead, making a path in the darkness, Hermione was not sure. She knew almost nothing about the man except that he had been in Slytherin and competed with her and Draco Malfoy for grades in school. She also knew that he had no part in the War although his father was a notorious Death Eater.

Theo muttered a curse when they passed beyond the counter, lighting his wand to find the door to the stairwell. Hermione's eyes moved from Katie and Justin as their wand light disappeared down a corridor further into the Emergency Department.

Hermione glanced about as they neared the door, seeing why Theo had cursed. There were gurneys and cots all over the Emergency Department, all loaded with decomposing bodies. The smell was stale, but not overpowering. After almost four months, the stench of decay had turned into something Hermione associated with graveyards, only fresher—stale, bitter odour.

"Was it the Curse, you think?" Theo whispered, pushing open the stairwell door.

Hermione moved her wand light over the bodies, the soft tissue of the bodies mostly gone, some bodies looking more like desiccated skeletons while others were still bloated and damp. Few on the cots had brown bandages about limbs, shoulders, and from the formation of the bloodstains, she could tell the wounds were caused by bites.

"I think so, some may have been attacked by Inferi, and made it this far before the Curse was cast…"

Theo made a noise and soon both of them were standing in the stairwell. Both were nervous, as Hermione had said to be wary of windowless rooms and enclosed spaces. Hermione remembered what Charlie had said about stumbling across a hive of Inferi in a back room of a pub near Shrewsbury.

However, as they peered down into the basement and up the stairwell, there was nothing. They moved silently up to the first floor, Theo having to jam his shoulder into the door to open it. A cart of cleaning supplies blocked the door and Theo Levitated out of the way for them to pass.

The light in the corridor was much improved compared to the ground floor, but both kept their wands lit as Theo strode to a wall map near the emergency exit. Hermione stood beside him, memorizing the map.

"The cafeteria is at the end of the wing," Theo whispered, more to himself than to Hermione.

They moved, silently, glancing into open doors. Hermione soon realized that they were in the Obstetrics Department and when the glass windows to the Nursery were in view, she looked away.

"Merlin," Theo muttered, gagging. Hermione whimpered and grasped Theo's arm as he slowed to look inside. She pulled him roughly away. "Sweet Merlin, Granger…" he gasped.

Hermione grimaced as she pulled harder, seeing the wing corridor angle through open doors. Soon, they were jogging down to the doors with the sign for the Cafeteria over top, moving past the Pediatrics ward. Hermione finally released Theo just outside the door, watching the dark haired man gag again, bending over to press his hands into his knees.

"I'm sorry," he muttered thickly, and Hermione took a step back, knowing that Theo would surely vomit. When he did, he managed to turn away, a hand upon the wall as his breakfast came up with a wet splatter. The sound nearly made Hermione vomit, but instead she pushed on the doors into the cafeteria, peeking inside, giving Theo time to compose himself.

Large windows allowed the morning sun into the empty cafeteria and Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry, Granger… It's just…" Theo murmured, Vanishing his vomit and wiping his mouth with the back of the sleeve of his long duster.

"It's alright, Theo. Believe me when I say, that that was probably the worst you'll have to see…"

Theo was not comforted, but straightened, his eyes keen again though his face was pale.

Soon, they were back on task.

They found the kitchen in the back of the cafeteria also lit with large windows, and surprisingly corpse free. Hermione told Theo not to bother with the freezers when he moved to them, and instead motioned him over to a dry goods pantry, which she lit with a few bluebell heatless flames. Inside there were industrial sized cans of food, sacks of rice, beans, and flour. Hermione let herself smile.

"How much, do you think?" Theo asked, his hands on his hips as they looked into the pantry together.

Hermione shrugged. "Enough to feed a hospital? Too bad we don't have the bag…"

Theo moved, pulling an ornate beaded bag, much as the one Hermione used to have, from an inside pocket of his duster.

"I nicked it from 'Tori Malfoy's trunk a few days ago…" Theo said sheepishly.

Hermione cocked her head, but said nothing as Theo passed it to her.

"I think Creevey got another from McGonagall sometime before we left."

There were four bags, and so much for the better. Hermione opened the bag, finding that the opening was Charmed to stretch as wide as one wanted. There was no prompting for her and Theo to start swiping the shelves with their arms, hugging cans of food and dropping it into the darkness of the bag Hermione placed near the door. When it became difficult to carry the food, they began Summoning the tins and sacks into the bag.

"There has to be other pantries like this in the town," Theo mused as he dropped the last tin of lima beans into the bag. "Schools, inns, restaurants?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm sure Dennis and Marcus will figure it out."

As they moved into the main portion of the cafeteria, a shimmering Patronus slipped through the doors of the cafeteria, a raccoon.

"We have everything from the pharmacy," Justin's disembodied voice said softly, in almost a whisper. "We're cleaning out the medical carts for bandages and instruments. Will meet you shortly outside after we clean out the surgical suites."

Theo chuckled at the raccoon and glanced to Hermione as the Patronus dissipated.

"A raccoon? I was expecting a badger…" Theo muttered.

Hermione said nothing, not about to tell Theo Nott that her own Patronus was an otter.

* * *

Charlie had noticed how Chang seemed to shudder when they moved on the inside of the remains of Dunollie Castle. He watched her reaction as she moved up into the upper story of the keep, looking out the window into the harbour.

"It's like the earth is humming… I can almost hear…" she trailed, shutting her mouth with a snap.

"The music?" Charlie supplied, calling up from the ground as Chang moved to the steps down.

Chang nodded. "I supposed you might have been able to hear it."

"Since Leeds, no, before that, though I did not know what it was. Hermione knew before I did."

Chang leapt off a lower step into the dirt floor next to Charlie. "Most of those who came can hear it, you know?"

Charlie nodded. "Marcus told me."

"Not Justin, though I don't know why. Just about all of us who can still use magic can hear it."

Chang shrugged and moved to the door toward the harbour, standing just in the entry, leaning into the stone. "It is eerie, this world, this castle… You know Roger and I flew down here from Inverness when it started. Gavin was at Hogwarts already, thank Merlin. We were just ahead of the Inferi as they came down from the north, and south of us, the Curse.

We flew through the black clouds of magic, breathed it in, smelled the death, but we were fine. Why was that, I wonder?" Chang mused.

Charlie could not answer, moving through the door and into the sunlight. He had not seen the Holokauston and could only imagine what it looked and felt like.

"Oh well, we're alive, Gavin's magic isn't failing him, and Roger seems fine so far… I should thank the stars, eh?"

Again, Charlie did not answer, he could not. He only knew of his pain and his troubles. He had no idea what it would be like to worry for a child or a family of his own. He had his parents and siblings, nieces and nephews, but still could not feel the lingering ache of loss. It would come soon enough, Charlie supposed.

In the meantime, they had to inform the others of where to land for the night.

* * *

Seamus' fox Patronus found Hermione and the others after noontime as they walked down the empty streets of Oban. The other group had cleaned out the markets and some restaurants and was now at the golf course to the east.

"Charlie has sent word to meet at Dunollie Castle on the harbour," the little shimmering fox said with Seamus thick accent.

The group took flight then, Katie in the lead. From the golf course's lodge, the eight flew together, stopping in the smaller villages northeast of Oban toward Dunollie. Hermione was not sure how much they had managed to forage all together, but by sunset, all ten were alive and safe in the shell of the keep of Dunollie Castle.

"We didn't come across any problems," Seamus told the group as they sat around a smokeless fire in the shelter of the tower as cold rain began pouring outside. "There were signs of Inferi, but we did not see any…"

"Of course not," Justin muttered. "It was an unusually sunny day. A rare day."

The other nodded in agreement.

"Do you think something is affecting the weather? The Seal maybe?" Katie asked, leaning into Marcus' side.

No one could answer, but Dennis added. "It's almost the middle of June and it feels like it might snow…"

Conversation ended as the distant shrieks of Inferi drifted from somewhere to the south. All listened, eyes wide until silence came again.

Hermione sat between Theo and Oliver, Charlie across the fire, his hands on his knees.

"Tomorrow?" Oliver asked, eyes moving the fire lit faces. "We head east toward Perth and Dundee?"

"We'll get as far as we can," Charlie said softly, his eyes moving to Oliver. "Perth and Dundee are too large… Inverness and Aberdeen, the same."

"The bigger the town the more Inferi?" Theo asked.

Charlie nodded. "We forage the smaller villages for now. Stay at least a half hour flying distance from Hogwarts. We assess the situation, the number of Inferi, or any unusual movement toward Hogwarts…"

"It's been too quiet," Cho whispered from the other side of Oliver, a visible shiver passing through her thin body. "Considering the number of Inferi outside the wards and walls…"

"I agree," Justin said. "Like a calm before a storm."

Hermione's attention moved to Marcus whose dark eyes seemed to glow. "And when the storm does come, I doubt we'll be able to manage."

"Enough!" Dennis Creevey hissed, rising from his place by the fire. "Brooding upon the matter is of no use. We all know what is happening, and we will know our attacker soon enough!"

Theo sighed loudly as Dennis moved away from the fire to a corner of the tower, sitting against the wall, wrapping his cloak about him. "Creevey's right. We can speculate and brood until the tops of our heads pop off from thinking. It does no good, not now. I, for one, want to have this over with… We move as fast as we can to get back to Hogwarts as fast as we can. Agreed?"

The group murmured, and Hermione felt that it was the end of the conversation for one night as several began to depart from the fire. Marcus and Katie moved to the upper story of the keep, and heard the soft sound of a Conjuring spell. Cho moved to a sleeping bag she had brought with her, pulling out the pendant she wore, which was a locket, Hermione saw. Cho kissed it as she laid down, zipping up the down filled bag. Justin and Theo moved to Creevey, mimicking his posture by pulling their cloaks about them tightly. Seamus sat on the stone steps leading up, laying back to look out one of the barred windows to the darkened harbour.

Oliver whispered to Charlie as he retreated to his own sleeping bag near Cho, patting Charlie's shoulder. Oliver instead went to the door and sat down on the low step to the outside, lifting the cowl of his cloak, and looking out to the dark with Seamus.

Charlie stood, stretching, and walked around the fire to stand next to Hermione.

"C'mon, let's get some sleep…"

Charlie had already made a little area under the stone stairs, tented off from view, large enough for the two of them to lay down on a Conjured pallet. Hermione lay down, only removing her boots as she stared up at the bottom side of the stairs. Charlie's body was warm next to hers, and together they stared up at the stone over their makeshift bed.

"This is a nightmare," Charlie whispered. "Isn't it?"

Hermione sighed, rolling onto her side in unison with Charlie, his arm curling about her waist.

"A shared one, perhaps. Surreal…"

Charlie inhaled into Hermione's hair, tickling the back of her neck.

"I hope it ends soon…" he whispered with a yawn.

"Me too."

* * *

"Run, damn you! Run!" Hermione shouted back to Justin as the front came from the southeast along the glen.

They had been foraging the small surgery at the far end of the village of Glencoe, finding more bandages, drugs, and supplies. It was near to dark and only a few miles from the Inn Charlie had found earlier in the day. The others had foraged the village and the houses.

It was just as the sun began to set that Hermione and Justin had finished, mounting their brooms outside the surgery. Justin was the first to notice the change in the air, like a stillness before a rain.

"What is it?" Justin had asked kicking off the ground to hover next to Hermione over the roof of the surgery.

Hermione's golden eyes looked down the glen to the south, and in the air, there was a flash, like heat lightning, and the still, staleness of the lack of any earth magic. The void was expanding like a bubble of death.

They flew as far as they could, but the front was faster, and soon they were on the road, running.

Justin was in awe as he kept looking back. There was nothing to see, nothing different about the area behind them. There was no terrible sight, or any visible indication that a bubble of vacuity was growing, engulfing all the magic in the earth as it swept over the mountains and along the glen.

Hermione knew very well what awed Justin, but she growled at him to keep running. Out in the open, they were vulnerable. She was not afraid of the Inferi, they, too, were magical things. She was afraid of inadvertently casting a spell and hurting herself again as she had near Mansfield.

"Run, you fucking ponce, run!" she shouted again, and this time, Justin Finch-Fletchley snapped back to reality and was running next to her as fast as they could use their legs.

* * *

All but two returned to the Clachaig Inn by nightfall. Charlie was pacing as Hermione and Justin warmed themselves by fireplace in the Bidean Lounge in the Inn complex. The Inn sat upon a particularly peculiar plot of magical earth, something that protected the group for two days while they foraged the villages nearby. It was the safest place to go instead of heading south to Tyndrum and the bed and breakfast Hermione had found almost two weeks before.

After Glencoe, the group was to return to Hogwarts. Charlie rubbed his unshaven face roughly.

The vacuum had settled over the village of Glencoe like a stationary weather front. Everyone sitting in the Lounge could feel it, and how dry the air was. It was hard to breathe, draining to move, but no one had used their wands or ability to cast. Charlie supposed he should be thankful that they had remembered.

"Dennis and Theo…do you think?" Chang asked, sitting on a leather sofa in the near dark of the Lounge.

No one spoke, even as Marcus and Katie returned from a back room with candles. Soon the room was lit and Charlie could see how pale everyone seemed, how wrought out. Hermione's hands were shaking as Oliver passed her a glass of whiskey from behind the bar. Justin looked ready to faint. They had run from down the glen, carrying their useless brooms. Charlie was thankful that the enchantment on the bottomless bags did not seem to be affected.

"They were in the western part of the village…" Seamus whispered to Chang, "Not too far away. If there is no Inferi, shouldn't we try to look for them? There's a car outside, I might be able to get it working if this doesn't let up soon," Seamus said to Charlie.

"It might not be a bad idea…" Oliver said.

"Aye, I got me permit to drive a few years back, and my da taught me how to fix cars…" Seamus said, trailing as suddenly Charlie stalked to the door to the outside, throwing it open.

All were on their feet as out of the darkness beyond the door came a huffing and shuffling sound. Chang gasped as suddenly Dennis Creevey stumbled inside, blood coating his dark cloak and face.

"Merlin!" Seamus exclaimed as he and Chang rushed past Charlie to Dennis who was carrying Theo Nott's unconscious body over his shoulder.

Charlie was suddenly shouting orders, and everyone snapped to attention.

Marcus took Theo from Dennis, running toward the stairs leading to the upstairs rooms. Charlie shouted for Justin to pull himself together and help. Justin was the only one who had any formal medical training, though cut short. Charlie ordered Chang and Katie to bring hot water and towels. Oliver was to bring the bag of medical supplies while Hermione was to tend to Dennis.

"And no wands!" Charlie shouted as everyone moved.

He knew they were all tried, and the lack of magic in the air did not help.

Charlie left Hermione and Dennis in the Lounge, following the sound of Justin's weary voice, instructing Marcus to lay Theo down in one of the larger rooms.

"His hand is gone," Seamus whispered to Charlie just outside the door to the room, Marcus lighting candles for Justin to examine Theo. "It looks like he's been bitten…"

"Shit…" Charlie muttered, watching as Justin tore away Theo's cloak and jumper with his shaking hands. Blood was turning the white bedding black.

"Finnegan, the bag!" Justin snarled.

Seamus left Charlie at the door, dropping the bottomless bag on the foot of the bed.

"Bandages, antiseptics… Christ, I don't know…" Justin growled.

Charlie turned away, moving numbly to the stairs down to the Lounge. He could hear Hermione's voice, whispering, and Katie and Chang fussing in the small kitchen behind the bar, trying to light the gas stove with matches and not their wands.

It was a disaster.

"We were going through the last house on the street. We found it had a basement pantry…but…" Charlie could hear Dennis say. "There were at least a dozen, just standing about. We tried to back out as quiet as we could, but it wasn't quiet enough…"

Charlie stepped down into the Lounge to find Hermione wiping Dennis' face with a damp handkerchief, sitting with him next to the fire.

"It was already getting dark, and we could feel it, ya know? The bleakness…"

"I know, Dennis, I had to run too…"

Dennis was sobbing softly, still trying to catch his breath. "Inferi on one side, the emptiness on the other… We ran north along the street, town the centre of the village, to the road here…they chased. Others were coming out of the dark, hearing the ones we found. And then one caught Theo…tried to drag him away. It was biting him, tearing at him…and I…I…"

Dennis' voice dissolved into louder sobs, and in the candle light, Hermione held to the younger man, not minding that blood smudged onto her cheek from Dennis' hair, or onto her clothes.

It seemed like seconds later than Chang and Katie emerged from the kitchen with a pot of steaming water, moving as quickly as they could without spilling the water, past Charlie. He listened as they made it to the upstairs room.

"When the front came, they all just fell to the ground…like the strings cut from marionettes. Theo was in bad shape, and I had to keep thinking: no magic, no magic…" Dennis said softly, his sobs subsiding. His voice was muffled in Hermione's shoulder, but it was clear enough for Charlie to listen. "There was so much blood, Hermione…"

Hermione whispered to Dennis, cooing almost, like a mother to a child, and Charlie could take no more. With several long strides, he was outside in the still, but cold air. His face contorted as he looked up to the stars.

They had been lucky so far; Charlie knew it could not last forever. He supposed he should thank the stars above that Theo was not killed outright. The boy at least had a chance.

There were millions more who had not been so lucky.

* * *

Dawn came, and still the air was devoid of magic. Justin had managed to stabilize Theo sometime in the early morning, and was now sleeping, propped up against the side of Theo's bed. Hermione had left Dennis to sleep on a couch in the Lounge, under her cloak.

The other two women had slept a few hours then went about preparing a decent breakfast, ala Muggle, in the small kitchen behind the bar with what food they could find in the stores. Hermione had contributed by making coffee for everyone who was up at dawn, finding Charlie last, sitting on the hood of one of the abandoned cars in the car park outside the Inn.

Charlie did not sleep, though everyone tried to catch at least an hour. Even as Hermione approached him with two cups of steaming coffee, Charlie's green eyes were open and alert. He slouched, however, staring down at the toes of his dragon hide boots.

"Here," Hermione whispered, passing a large mug to Charlie.

He muttered a word of thanks and grasped the warm mug, but did not drink immediately. Hermione sat next to him, propping her feet up on the bumper of the old Vauxhall Magnum, the paint job a terrible shade of brownish yellow.

Hermione drank her coffee, leaning into Charlie's right shoulder.

"It is not anyone's fault, Charlie," she said soberly. "We knew this would be dangerous…"

Charlie sighed and drank his coffee. "I know, luv, I know…" he muttered.

Hermione frowned slightly, holding her mug between her palms. "This will let up soon, and we can be on our way."

"Yeah," Charlie said wistfully, raising his face to the clear blue sky. There was no wind, no sound of birds, nothing to make even the azure beauty of the day seem true.

The mountains, the Inn, the sky, and sun, it was like some stage set pieces to Hermione. The air was tasteless, dry, the lack of ambient magic made everything false and stagnant. Even the coffee did not have much taste to her.

Slowly, Charlie's arm wrapped about her shoulders as he drank from his mug again. "This has got to end sometime…either with us all dead, the Seal failing, and the whole world finding Britain gone…"

It was a morbid thought, but Hermione could not deny she had thought it many times herself. _This_ could not last forever. What would be the point if it did?

Marcus came outside to tell them both that breakfast was ready and that Theo was still stable. Hermione and Charlie followed Marcus' bulky form back into the Inn, hand, and hand, and tried to appear upbeat.

The façade was tiring, even when they felt the front shift and the wind blow through the open door of the Lounge soon after eating tasteless powdered eggs and dehydrated bacon.


	14. 14

14

Katie took Theo on her broom with Marcus flying against her to steady the unconscious and injured man. The flight back to Hogwarts was slower than Charlie would have liked, but it would have to be so if they wanted Theo to remain in stable condition.

When Justin had use of his wand again, he healed what he could of Theo's lesser injures, swearing under breath that Pomfrey had better have Blood Replenishing Draughts left in the Hospital Wing stores.

Hermione thought Justin did a bang-up job considering he had failed out of medical school after his first rotation of residency. Cho whispered to Hermione that Justin had been an alcoholic and was pitched out of uni because of his addiction and short temper. Hermione could see how that could have been with Justin. Justin had been a Hufflepuff by Sorting only—he was more a cross between the snobby Ravenclaw and underhanded Slytherin in Hermione's opinion. All the same, Justin was not a bad fellow.

Hogwarts came into sight by late afternoon, as did the legions of motionless Inferi, seemingly useless in the bright sunlight. Landing just before the Entrance Hall, Marcus and Katie Levitated Theo immediately to the Hospital Wing while the rest of the group stretched and gathered. Dennis, much recovered from his shock, was the one to take the brooms. Charlie had instructed Dennis to hide them in case someone should decide to use them to leave the protection of the grounds. Dennis was quickly gone by the time Cho and Oliver produced the bottomless bags, giving the two with medicine to Justin to take to Pomfrey, and the food to Hermione.

Hermione knew that both Cho and Oliver were anxious to see to their families, and soon, they too, had departed. Only Seamus lingered, whispering quickly to Charlie, and then winking to Hermione to run into the castle, disappearing among the milling crowd refugees.

"I should take these to the kitchen," Hermione murmured to Charlie whose green eyes peered into the Entrance Hall.

Charlie turned to Hermione and smiled faintly. "Quickly, luv. I think I see Bones coming, and by the look on her face, she is not happy…"

Hermione smirked, glancing into the hall, and as Charlie said, Susan was descending the stairs from the portrait hall, a sour expression on her face.

"See you later?"

"Yeah…" Charlie trailed quickly pressing a kiss into Hermione's sweaty brow before bounding into the Entrance Hall to intercept Susan.

Hermione shifted the two bottomless bags in her hands and set her face. With a deep breath, she set off toward the Entrance Hall, slipping through the people talking and loitering about. Down the stairs on the right of the main staircase, Hermione was struck with memories of schooldays, sneaking into the kitchens with Harry or Ron, advocating for Elfish Rights and other such silly adolescent nonsense. Surely, the elves would forgive her after so long?

Getting into the kitchens by tickling the pear was just the same as it had ever been, and when Hermione descended into the huge room, it was to the gasp of over a hundred elves, all sitting idly, talking amongst themselves. Hermione looked about the kitchen, knowing that many of the elves were not only Hogwarts elves, but family elves.

"Miss, is you lost?" a tiny yellow skinned elf asked, tugging on the hem of her filthy cloak.

"Tamsin, step away, I will deal with this," a squeaky, familiar voice sounded and Hermione looked up to find Winky staring up at her, the large brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Hermione nodded to Winky, and Winky nodded back as the other elves began talking amongst themselves again, trying their best not to seem to be watching or listening.

"You is Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, Winky. It's been a while…."

The large eyes narrowed further as the elf interrupted. "If you is here to free us, we is prepared to fight."

Hermione let a laugh pass from between her lips, and the elves turned to look upon her. Suddenly, Hermione was giggling and Winky's brown eyes widened.

"No! No, of course not, Winky… I've brought food."

At the word 'food' it seemed as if a wave of elves came at Hermione, causing her to step back.

"You has food? Where did you get it?" one elf squeaked excitedly.

"Is them bottomless bags? Give them here!" exclaimed another.

"Enough! All of you!" Winky bellowed, but it sounded more like a high-pitched scream to Hermione. "We has almost no food, we will do this orderly like!"

The elves seemed to either fear or respect Winky, and Hermione was curious to know how Winky had come to the top of the hierarchy in the castle in Dobby's absence.

"Kreacher!" Winky called, and slowly, out of the group, an ancient, familiar, and a grizzled elf stepped forward. Kreacher had little changed from what Hermione remembered, he looked as surly and disgusting as ever. "You is to help me," Winky proclaimed.

Hermione expected Kreacher to say something foul about her birth, but was surprised when Kreacher moved closer, his old, knobby hands reaching out for one of the bags. Hermione passed it gently to the elf and watched him shuffle away, several elves following.

"It is Muggle tins, mostly," Hermione began explaining to Winky, moving to kneel on the kitchen floor, passing the elf the other bag. "There are also sacks of dry goods. Nothing fresh, I'm afraid."

Winky's disposition seemed to turn, and her brown eyes sparkled. "No worry, Miss. We's been growing vegetables in the greenhouses. None above know except Headmistress McGonagall. Even the 'Three' don't know. Now, you know, you keep secret and quiet?"

Hermione nodded. "I hope this will go a long way before we have to forage again."

Winky nodded, hugging Astoria Malfoy's beaded bag against her body. "We cannot leave, Miss. If we could help more, we would."

Hermione nodded again and rose. Winky promptly trotted off into the kitchen where the elves were in a sudden frenzy, organizing food, opening some tins to prepare for an evening meal.

"Kreacher would speak to the Mudblood," the cracked and crude elfish voice sounded just as Hermione began to ascend. She turned slowly to find Kreacher at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his hands in his filthy rag he wore.

Hermione took a step down as Kreacher moved, sitting on the bottom step, her face level with the elf's.

"Kreacher would ask about his Master."

Hermione blinked. "I haven't seen him yet," she said slowly.

Kreacher seemed to wheeze, and Hermione was not sure if the elf were about speak, cough, or make a sound of derision.

"Kreacher is the property of Harry Potter, and as such, Kreacher must speak to you about his Master's welfare now that the Master is indisposed."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

Kreacher fidgeted, or so it seemed, and then glanced back into the now busy kitchen.

"Kreacher fears that Master's recovering is being hindered by one who does not wish Master to ever wake."

Her brow knit. "Who…and why?"

Kreacher, again, seemed to fidget, and Hermione realized that the elf was hesitant to speak, but he did, leaning toward her though it seemed to make the elf uncomfortable.

"Who, Kreacher does not know for certain, but why should be clear to the Mudblood."

"This Mudblood…" Hermione growled. "has had little time to ponder such a thing."

Kreacher growled, his jowls quivering angrily. "'Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is the Devil's hand,' Mudblood. Kreacher will say no more."

Hermione was left gaping after the elf as he turned and disappeared into the crowd of others of his kind. Kreacher's words were those of warning framed in an obscure quote. However, as Hermione began walking again, up from the kitchens, she pondered the words. Harry… It had to do with Harry and Voldemort, surely. The first time, happenstance saved Harry from being killed. The second time, it was a strange coincidence that the master of the Elder Wand was the one who took it from Albus Dumbledore—Malfoy… The Elder Wand rebounded, and Voldemort died a second time.

Hermione had stepped into the Entry Hall, chewing on her thumbnail. A thought began to come together in her head, a terrible possibility…

"Hermione!"

All thoughts were dashed as Ron Weasley's voice rang out angrily in the hall, causing everyone to turn and stare. Hermione sighed as she heard heavy footfalls come down the main staircase. She turned slowly to see Ron's scarred face, flushed a terrible shade of red. His colour and expression, despite the disfigurement, reminded Hermione of many 'bad' memories she had of her once best friend and ex-boyfriend.

* * *

The 'Three' were holding 'court' again in Severus Snape's old quarters, posed much like they had been the last time Hermione had been in the Victorian parlour. However, Hermione would not sit next to Lucius Malfoy and stood by the casement windows. The enchanted windows were accurate when it came to time, the sun beginning to set to the west, casting warm red light over the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione kept her face passive as Ron seemed to lecture endlessly about how foolish she and Charlie had been about taking a group of witches and wizards out to forage before 'they' could decide on the matter. Hermione wanted to yawn, as Lucius Malfoy had been doing to annoy Ron.

Susan seemed annoyed at Hermione, but said nothing.

Then the words 'mutiny' and 'disobedience' slipped past Ron's lips. It was then Hermione finally acted.

"You speak as if you three are the rulers of what is left of our civilization, Ronald," Hermione growled. "And if that were so, I will respectfully have to rebel."

Ron's face reddened. "You would," he muttered, turning to the fire.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

"Now, now, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger… Let us be clear," Lucius Malfoy drawled from the fainting couch. "It was perhaps unwise to act on your own, Miss Granger. Theo Nott has been grievously injured, and I would say that he was lucky that he or all of you were not killed. As unfortunate was Mr. Nott's injuries are, we are in your debt."

Ron made a snorting noise and Lucius rolled his eyes, but continued.

"If it were not for you and Mr. Weasley's concerted efforts with eight of our number, we would be moving closer to starvation and death with each second.

We have spoken to Charlie Weasley and he tells me that there are places outside of Hogwarts that are safe to use as temporary havens. This is encouraging news. If we work together, I am sure that we can collect more supplies in the future with the proper planning.

However, what concerns us is the fact that you acted without consensus. As weak, as it might seem, Miss Granger, we have established a system of government here. Since you have only recently come to Hogwarts, the mechanics of this system may not be clear to you…"

"Enough with this, Lucius… Enough sugar-coated words!" Ron hissed.

"Ron," Susan groaned, speaking for the first time since Ron had brought Hermione into the room.

"The point is, we were chosen by lottery to act on the behalf of the people here. We do our best to accommodate the needs of all, Miss Granger. Having ten witches and wizards going off on their own does not inspire confidence in those that were chosen to lead. We cannot afford to have dissention now, do you understand?" Lucius finished.

Hermione pursed her lips as three sets of eyes fell heavy upon her. "I understand, and I'll save my 'howevers,' for now."

Lucius grinned. "Fine. Now, I think that is enough for rebuke and castigation for one day…"

Susan, without prompting moved to the door and was quickly gone. Even Ron rose, albeit angrily and stomped to the door. Suddenly, Hermione was alone, again, with Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione 'tsked' and began moving to the door, suddenly hungry, and feeling very grubby. However, as it had happened before, Lucius' voice sounded, and Hermione was obligated to stop before even touching the doorknob.

"Personally, I think you did the right thing, my dear. Why wait for the 'Three' to make up their minds while the threat of starvation loomed? Very noble indeed."

Hermione slowly turned her eyes to Lucius, who had shifted on the couch, dressed in something more familiar than Muggle clothes, but still casual, even for a Malfoy. His canes rested on the end of the couch, forgotten, as he stood. Hermione smirked.

"There was nothing noble about any of it," she grumbled. "Theo still was injured and the rest of the group are shell shocked more than ever before by what they've seen out there."

Lucius moved to the fire, leaning his right forearm into the mantle to grasp the end of the metal poker, stabbing at a log before replacing the poker again, turning to Hermione.

"And during the time while you were out, trying to keep everyone from succumbing to the horror of the truth, did you have time to think of my offer at all?" he asked in a smooth purr.

Hermione studied Lucius, the way his waist length silvery blond hair gleamed in the firelight, the way his pale eye bore into her own. It made her nervous. Lucius Malfoy was a predator in the guise of a man. His gaze was almost obscene.

"Not at all," Hermione said, lifting her chin. Her hand grasped the doorknob and began to turn the latch. As the door began to open, Hermione gasped as a pale hand moved past her face to slam against the dark oak door, shutting it with a snap.

Stepping back from the door, Hermione twisted, her back against the wall as Lucius leaned his arm into the door, smirking.

"I would advise you think about it, my dear. I am quite serious…"

Licking her lips, Hermione raised her chin again, peering down her nose at Lucius. "As am I, Lucius. I am not sure what it is you really want from me, but if you think you are going to get it, you are sadly mistaken. Pardon me," she ground out between her teeth.

There must have been something in her expression, she knew, that made Lucius' grin melt away and his eyes harden. As she stepped forward, he stepped back. Whatever strength he had had to glide from the fireplace to the door without a sound had vanished, and his steps were almost stumbles.

Hermione huffed in disgust and threw open the door and began stalking down the dark dungeon passage toward the steps leading up to the Entry Hall.

However, at the bottom of the stair, Hermione collided with a large, warm body. She had not been paying attention to where she was going; it had not mattered, as long as it was away from Lucius Malfoy.

"Hermione?"

She cringed. Ron…

Hermione drew her wand quickly and lit it, blinking at the sudden light and the close proximity of Ron's body to her own. Hermione tried taking a step back, to see Ron's face properly, but his hand whipped out in the dark to grasp the elbow of her wand hand.

"What's the matter?" he asked, and for a moment, Hermione could see the boy she knew once.

Hermione said nothing and tried to tug her arm away. "It's nothing, Ronald…please let me go…"

The disfigured side of Ron's face wrinkled while his undamaged eye widened.

"I've been wanting to talk to you…outside of my duties…"

She could not help herself, Hermione scoffed. "About?" she asked tersely, Ron's hand far too strong about her elbow.

Ron licked his lips and pressed in closer so that Hermione could feel his breath hot on her brow. "Us… What I meant by giving you that room. I didn't mean for it to be awkward. I just thought…"

Hermione finally extracted her elbow and stumbled a step back. "Ron—"

"I never wanted to muck things up between us… I mean, that was years ago," Ron began and then sighed, his voice softening to an urgent whisper in the near darkness. "I know I didn't reply to your letters at first, and when you didn't reply to mine, I just thought maybe you were getting back at me. I wanted to see you so badly, but you were always off to America or Australia, or Tibet, of all places…places I could not go after you."

She let him talk, only to tell him, again, that it was over.

"You didn't even look at me at the ceremony…you didn't stand up to take your commendation… I got angry. I said the wrong things. I didn't mean it, 'mione."

Enough, she thought, and eyed the bottom of the stairs just around Ron's thick shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley?" a voice sounded in the dark, and Hermione felt her breath catch. "Is there a reason why you have Miss Granger pinned to the wall?"

Hermione blinked. Ron had somehow manoeuvred her only a finger's breadth against the damp dungeon wall.

Ron whirled, lighting his own wand to reveal Horace Slughorn in his teaching robes, hands behind his back, taking on a very professional air.

"Professor…" Ron began.

Hermione took the opportunity to step around Ron to smile wanly at Slughorn, raising an eyebrow outside of Ron's notice.

"Ah, Miss Granger, it is fortunate that I should find you so easily!" Slughorn said with a wonderful sense of bravado, the right corner of his mustache rising in acknowledgement. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Weasley, I simply must borrow Miss Granger for a while!"

Characteristic to what Hermione remembered of Ron in the early days of their acquaintance, Ron spluttered even as Horace Slughorn tucked Hermione's free hand in his arm, drawing her toward the Potions laboratory and to his offices.

Horace was approximately the same height as Hermione, looking much as he had the night he dueled Voldemort in silk, emerald green pyjamas. There was an ageless quality about the rotund, balding wizard that Hermione almost found endearing.

Hermione's wand lit the way deeper into the dungeons and when Ron was far behind them, Slughorn chuckled.

"Oh what a travesty this is!" he laughed. Hermione was not exactly sure what Horace meant, but allowed him to pat the back of her hand. "I have a bottle of elf-made wine, would you like a glass, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened to mouth to answer when the door to Horace's office opened, nearly blinding Hermione with the light inside. She was led inside with a gently tug on her arm, and Hermione promptly cancelled the lighting spell and slipped her wand into the holster on her belt under her filth cloak. Horace finally released her hand to close the door behind them, ushering Hermione toward the fireplace where she was motioned to sit in a large armchair while Horace perched upon the ottoman.

"Now, I know that you must be tired, Miss Granger. We have heard about your travels…"

"'We?'"

Horace grinned, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes and Summoning a tray with two wine flutes and an opened bottle of wine. He did not answer immediately, but poured half a glass of blood red elf-made wine for Hermione, pressing the stem into her hand, and then pouring half a glass for himself. The tray floated down to a spindly table next to Hermione with a soft clank of glass against metal.

"Minerva, Pomona, Irma, well, all of the staff who is still with us… I hear that you were with Aurora when this all started?"

Hermione nodded slowly, suddenly wondering if she should have run up to the Entrance Hall when she had the chance. Horace's behaviour was a bit off-putting, and odd.

"We heard that the Abbey fell after the first assault on the castle. What a loss…all those books!"

Hermione had not really thought about it before, the instinct to survive had given her little time to realize the loss of one thing she cherished in the entire world—books. A pain struck her inside, but Hermione knew that it was not as poignant as it would have been perhaps months before.

Horace took a drink of the wine and then urged Hermione to drink as well, as she did, Horace's attempt at conversation shifted.

"When I was leaving the office, I was actually looking for a student. Lucky that I found you instead… I do hope that Mr. Weasley has not been harassing you."

Hermione swallowed the sweet wine and immediately felt a rush in her blood stream.

"No, not Ron. Lucius, maybe…but we do have a history."

Horace chuckled, "Yes, I know. You may not know how infamous you are amongst certain circles, Miss Granger…writing manifestos in the guise of children's books! I find it so refreshing!"

Hermione smirked, but then cocked her head. "You mentioned a student?"

"Ah, yes, young Mr. Lupin. You know him, I assume?"

"Not recently. I probably would not know him if I saw him now…"

Horace smiled. "When he's not shifting his face about, he looks very much like Remus Lupin, but he has his mother's abilities. Although, I think the combination of mother and father has given young Teddy a great capacity for mischief. You know he was Sorted last autumn into my House?"

Hermione did not. Remus had been a Gryffindor, Tonks a Hufflepuff; perhaps Teddy was more like the Blacks, a Slytherin. Hermione lamented the fact that she knew next to nothing about Teddy. Her last memory of the boy was seeing him at the ceremony bestowing posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class to his parents. He was about three years old, sitting on Andromeda Tonks' lap.

"Of course, Houses mean nothing now. Most of the younger students have passed on; others have decided to drop out of the curriculum because their families want them close. The ones that are left are orphans for the most part. But poor Teddy, he's had misfortune after misfortune in the past year, it is no wonder he has acted out…"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked after taking another drink of wine, knowing she would regret acquiescing to Horace's sense of 'socializing.'

Horace blinked. "You haven't heard then?"

Hermione shook her head, clueless.

"Andromeda Tonks died suddenly at New Years, and Teddy ran away for several weeks after that. The Ministry finally found Teddy when he used magic in front of Muggles in Lambeth. There was an inquest, of course…why he had run away, where he had been. Minerva and I had to go to London just before all of this started to bring him back to Hogwarts. Of course, Andromeda's death was due to a bad heart. After her husband and daughter were killed, well, you can imagine…

Poor little Teddy, though it was not his fault, somehow, became afraid. He ran away, there were advertisements in the Daily Prophet—'have you seen this boy?' Then again, with you being with the Sisterhood in the Abbey, I'm not surprised you did not know…"

Hermione set her glass aside and leaned toward Horace, disturbed. "Is there no one close to Teddy? I know he has no blood relatives left now that Draco is gone…but…"

Horace shook his head sadly. "Just myself and Minerva. The Ministry awarded me partial custody, it was the best I could do. Teddy Lupin was, until a few months ago, legally a ward of the Ministry…"

A clock on Horace's desk across the room chimed eight and Hermione was on her feet.

"I'm sorry, sir, I really need to go…"

Horace rose slowly, "Yes, yes, you must be exhausted, hungry… I do hope that the 'Three' will not be a problem for you, Miss Granger. Remember, the staff are here for you, my dear girl… Minerva, in particular, would like to speak with you at some point.

Oh, and I would like to speak to Charlie Weasley as well. I haven't really met the young man, but from what I've been hearing, he is gifted with handling dragons. It would be interesting to talk to him some evening…"

Hermione smiled.

"And about the wine, we'll keep that between us, yes, Miss Granger?" Horace chuckled even as a devious, Slytherin-esque grin formed on his lips under his silvery moustache.

"Of course, sir. Thank you for…just thank you," Hermione murmured, moving to the door.

"It is always a delight to help beautiful young women," Horace chortled, twirling his wand between his thick fingers. Hermione snorted and finally slipped away.

* * *

Charlie was spitting curses into the mirror when he heard Hermione come into the back portion of the office. His cheek was bleeding where the razor nicked an old scar over a difficult patch of face.

"There are Shaving Charms, Charlie," he heard Hermione say from the door of the lavatory, a tired smile on her grimy face.

"I was terrible with them…prefer a razor," he murmured reaching for a piece of tissue he had placed on the ledge under the mirror for just the occasion of nicking himself. "You look about how I feel, luv," he said to Hermione's reflected face.

"A long, hot bath is in order," she sighed.

Charlie nodded as she began to move to disrobe while he began shaving under his chin. In the mirror, she could see how dirty her skin was. Scented water quickly filled the bathtub and in no time, he could see Hermione sinking into the steamy freesia scented water.

"Have you seen to Theo?" she asked, her voice echoing off the lavatory walls.

"In the morning," he muttered pinching and lifting his nose to shave his upper lip. "The 'Three' harass you as much as they did me?" he said swishing the straight razor in the bowl of the full sink.

Hermione made a noise, but did not answer. In the mirror, Charlie could see that she was washing her face with a flannel, her eyes heavy. He watched her then start washing her hair, slowly, wearily. With a sigh, he finished shaving, rinsing off the razor and sitting it on the edge of the sink while he bent down to rinse his cheeks of the remaining shaving cream.

"Lucius Malfoy…" he heard her say after surfacing in the tub to rinse out her long, thick hair. "The man is determined to replace his son as the bane of my existence. He has it in his head that I should bear him a new heir…"

Charlie straightened, his face hardening. In the mirror, he could see her wringing out her hair and letting it fall over one bare shoulder. Bubbles obscured the rest of her in the narrow tub, and as she lay back against the angled side, she closed her eyes, placing the flannel over her face. He turned, leaning back into the sink, feeling oddly angry.

"Has he done anything to you?"

It was a vague question, but Charlie knew very well how forceful Lucius Malfoy could be. There had been a long running feud between Lucius and Arthur Weasley, and on one that more occasion, blows traded ending in a draw. The memory of his father made Charlie wince. Arthur Weasley, by all accounts, was a kind, laid back man, but when it came to defending the family honour, Arthur Weasley was not to be underestimated when it came to bare-knuckled fighting. Charlie took much after his father, in attitude and strength.

"Hermione?"

She moved slowly, pulling the flannel from her eyes. "Nothing I cannot handle, Charlie," she murmured. "It is Ron…" she trailed her eyes moving to the dissipating bubbles on the surface of the bath water.

Charlie pushed off the sink and moved to the side of the tub, crouching down, staring at Hermione's face. "Ron, what?"

His voice was gruff, deep, and serious. Charlie rarely got angry, but when it did, it was the type of quiet, dangerous anger.

Hermione slipped out of the water, standing over him, water running down her thin body. Charlie blinked; as the dark damp curls between her thighs were almost level with his face. For a moment, the anger drained away. He stayed still as Hermione reached for a large bath towel and wrapped herself inside.

He sighed, letting his forehead drop to the edge of the tub. Hermione was capable of taking care of herself. Charlie knew this very well. Whatever possessed him to become angry was a manifestation of a jealousy Charlie knew he could not afford to have.

The fact of the matter was this: Hermione and Charlie were not a couple. They were survivors that had come together to up the odds of their survivor. They were suffering from prolonged shock. They had had sex, found each other attractive, found comfort in each other's company. They moved and lived together because they had been lucky to find themselves complimentary to each other.

The truth, to Charlie, was that they had no arrangement, no agreement. There were no words or forces that bound them into an exclusive relationship. Love, was a non-issue, it had not been brought up by either party. Thus, jealousy would mean nothing.

But, he did love her.

Charlie rose from his crouch by the tub, moving into the outer room to find Hermione dressing in a long, soft nightgown, one that he had found for her in Leeds, one that she had not worn before. He was ready for bed, in his pyjama bottoms, showered, shaven, and sore. Hermione Charmed her hair dry, making it frizzy and unmanageable. She did not seem to care as she slipped into bed, eyes closed, on her right side.

Exhaustion fell heavy upon his bones and Charlie 'Noxed' the candles, slipping under the blankets next to Hermione. He lay on his back, staring up at the canopy for sometime, listening to Hermione breathe softly. So many things flitted through his brain as it began to shut down, Hermione and their relationship being the main thought. He thought about Theo Nott, and the others. He thought about all the things he and Hermione had seen and felt. He thought about Ron's words the night they arrived at the castle. Safety. Was there a danger at Hogwarts that no one realized? Marcus and Katie believed that perhaps the reason their world had ended was sitting with the refugees in the castle. How could that be?

Charlie grunted as he turned toward Hermione, his arm naturally wrapping about her waist. Pressing his face into her wild, freesia scented hair, he closed his eyes.

They were as safe as they could be; there was always safety in numbers.


	15. 15

15

A fragment of a dream caused Hermione to open her eyes with a snap, and it took several moments for her to realize where she was. The room was dark except for fire and starlight. It was still night, and Hermione figured she had only been asleep for a few hours. With a sigh, she rolled onto her back, hand searching for the familiar warmth of a body to her left. There was nothing, not even a warm space of mattress.

Panic swept through her for a moment, and she sat up in the bed.

Her eyes found his shaggy dark red head sitting in one of the high-backed chairs by the fire. Relief came as quickly as panic and Hermione could breathe. Slipping from the bed, Hermione padded across the room to stand by Charlie's chair, finding that his jade green eyes were open and staring into the fire.

"Charlie?" she asked quietly.

He did not acknowledge her and she thought that perhaps he was asleep with his eyes open, or she had not spoken loud enough. She stepped closer, the arm of the chair against her thighs. Reaching out to touch his handsome face, he blinked and grasped her wrist.

Hermione gasped as her body was twisted and pulled until she was sitting in Charlie's lap, her hands against his bare chest, face to face. Charlie was grinning.

Hermione slapped his chest, annoyed. "What's the matter with you?" she asked, in part derision, part exasperation.

"Couldn't sleep," he whispered, his breath hot against her face.

She frowned.

Hermione knew that he had been upset by what she had said in her half waking state of washing. Of course, she was upset with both Malfoy and Ron; both treated her like a prized breeding cow. Even though times somehow demand that humanity preserve itself, Hermione was in no position to bear a child.

It was more than that, Hermione supposed, it was not just simply because two men acted as if they were in the running to claim her. It was also the fact that Charlie Weasley held her on his lap in the middle of the night, sharing a bed and a room together.

There were feelings to sort out.

Charlie's eyes gazed softly into her own as his hands moved over her hips to her waist to hold her on his lap.

"I care for you," she said as to answer and unspoken question. "I want to stay near you. I worry when you are away from me…"

He blinked slowly. "Do you love me?"

She could feel the rumble of his voice under her palms placed over his defined chest, a soothing sensation that trickled down her arms to her heart. Hermione was not sure how to answer, and stared into his beautiful eyes for several moments.

"I… I love that it was you, Charlie, that it was you who was with me. I love that you saved me, held me, cared for me."

His hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks between his rough palms roughly.

"In a world like this, love is even more complicated, isn't it?"

Hermione tried to smile, her hands moving from his chest to grasp his wrists. "About what I said earlier…"

He shook his head. "You do what you want, Hermione."

Hermione frowned. "It's not that…" she trailed. "I didn't…"

Charlie's fingers traced her jaw, moving down to her shoulders, down to her ribs to her waist again.

"I have no claim to you, Hermione. No one does… But I…"

Hermione silenced him with a kiss, her arms wrapping about his neck as he leaned toward her. She kissed him thoroughly, soft to passionate, neat to sloppy. There was no one on earth that would ever mean more to her than Charlie Weasley did. It did have to do with what they had been together, but it was also the strength of Charlie's character. He was strong, he was intelligent, he was caring, he was kind, and he was his own person. Charlie Weasley was powerful, wise, and someone that Hermione was happy to count as a friend and ally.

She loved him.

"I never want to be apart from you, as long as this world lasts…" he said once their lips parted and they gazed from gold to green and back gain.

Hermione shivered. As long as this world lasts…

"No profession of love, the notion of it is meaningless here and now," he continued. "If it still meant something I would say it."

Her lips trembled.

"I cannot take you out, cannot give you gifts, cannot take you to places that are special to me… I want to show you something beautiful to act as a counterpoint to everything we've seen."

Hermione shook her head and smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter…"

Charlie sighed softly, and brushed at her unruly hair, pushing it from her face. He kissed her again, quickly.

"Maybe someday, if the world rights itself," he whispered, pulling her into an embrace, whispering into her hair, "We can actually sit down to a real meal."

Hermione chuckled, emotion straining her voice, rubbing her forehead into Charlie's shoulder.

"In the meantime…stay with me, Hermione."

* * *

They slept until dawn, and upon waking slowly, it was to soft touches and smooth caresses. Exhaustion had limited Hermione's arousal hours before, as had Charlie's words. There was a fuzzy softness to everything, after she said yes to Charlie's request. The softness did not last long, nor did Hermione expect it to. All around them, their world was crumbling bit by bit. The reality of everything did not allow for warm, tender moments, not that Hermione truly cared for them.

She was a realist. Romance was reserved for fiction, true love for fairy tales. The only thing she ever wanted from love was passion, contentment, and a life companion.

Ron had been so much a part of her early adult life. Hermione could not dismiss Ron, as simply a relationship gone badly, the dissolution of their relationship was not just his fault. Ron, despite what many thought, was not her complete opposite. Ron did understand her, how she prized her work over much of her life. He understood that she had her good and bad moments, her ups and down. He understood that she needed her space.

There had been passion, an overabundance of it. Arguments ended in climax on the bed, against the wall, or on the floor, but nothing was ever resolved. Eventually it came down to the fact that they simply did not like each other much although they did love each other. When the time came that Ron began looking elsewhere for nurturing and simplicity, Hermione was trying to make a name for herself outside of being a 'war hero.' The Ministry offered her positions, but none interested her. She did not want to be an Auror; she did not want to work for the Wizengamot.

While Ron understood many things about her, there were some things he did not. He could not understand why she wanted to write children's books. It did not pay well. He did not understand why she did not use her own name for everything she wrote. He did not understand that she did not want to have children. He did not understand that she liked it when he was rough with her in the bedroom.

Ron did not understand many things. In the end, the relationship grew stale, and ended. They were still friends, but at a distance. They still loved each other, but it was not the same as being 'in love.'

As Hermione lay against Charlie Weasley, the fact that Charlie was Ron's older brother did not bother her. Charlie was not Ron, not in any way, shape, or form. They were related, but there were few physical similarities. Charlie was stockier than Ron, thicker in muscle, and not as awkward when he moved. Charlie smelled like the earth and forests while Ron smelled like grass and spun sugar. Charlie's snore was soft and natural while Ron snored as if something were ripping apart in his lungs and throat. Charlie's kisses curled her toes, while Ron's were too warm, too wet, and too eager.

Hermione groaned. Enough about Ron, she thought as Charlie began to stir.

"Morning," he sighed, stretching lithely against her breasts and belly.

"Mmmm," was all she could manage to utter.

Charlie yawned, his arms stretched toward the headboard of the bed. Lowering them, he gathered her close against him, and then with a grunt, pulled her body over his, staring up into her face.

Hermione kissed him, not caring that their mouths were stale from sleep. And just as she knew it would, her toes curled when he kissed her in return. Under the blankets, her fingers brushed up from his hips to his ribs, causing him to shudder.

"We have things to do today," Charlie whispered as Hermione slide her knees to either side of his hips. "Don't we?"

Hermione raised her upper body up from his chest, the blankets slipping down her back. "We do," she conceded in a sigh. Fingertips trailing along the trail of hair between Charlie's well-defined chest, she gently rose from the bed and headed for the lavatory. As she walked away, she heard Charlie grumble.

After dressing and sufficiently waking to a new day, they sat on the rug before the low fire, eating out of tins again. Hermione told Charlie, in detail, what had happened after they returned to the castle. She told him about Kreacher and his cryptic words, Malfoy and his untoward advances, even Ron who had frightened her more than Malfoy.

"Have you seen Teddy Lupin recently?" Hermione asked using a plastic fork to poke a piece of tinned peach.

Charlie was drinking brewed coffee from a metal cup. The habit of eating out of their own supplies had carried on, and Hermione saw no reason to stop.

"Not since…" he started, and then trailed. He frowned as he drank. "He was a toddler when I last saw him…I think Mrs. Tonks had him out in Diagon Alley sometime before Christmas."

Hermione nodded. "The Order of Merlin ceremony… I had no idea that Andromeda Tonks had died… That poor boy," Hermione mused, her words fleeting and airy.

Charlie set his coffee on the rug and began eating out of the same tin as Hermione, using his fingers to grasp a slippery piece of peach.

"I'll have Mum check on him. If I remember correctly, Teddy was about the same age as Vicky…"

Hermione hummed and finally began chewing on her sugary peach slice, her mind far away.

"And Harry? You said something about wanting to see him?"

Hermione swallowed before answering. "I can see to Theo as well. You wanted to speak to the others?"

"Yeah… I have a feeling that they will want to sit down and discuss what we've seen out there."

It made sense, Hermione thought. Most of the group that went out to forage had been removed from the horror that was Britain. Hermione worried most about Dennis. Trying to calm the younger man down after bringing Theo to safety had been exhausting. Hermione was not sure if Dennis had anyone, his family, a girlfriend, anyone. Cho had her family, Seamus had his mother, Theo had his family, as did Oliver and Justin, Marcus had Katie and vice versa, but Dennis… Hermione sighed.

There were so many broken families, so many broken hearts. Hermione could only thank whatever higher power that her parents loved Australia so much and that Ron had survived…and Harry.

By nine o'clock, Hermione was walking toward the Hospital Wing, passing people whose faces were a little brighter than she remembered before. One middle-aged witch Hermione did not know actually stopped her to thank her and the others for being so brave to go out for food. Hermione could only smile and pat the woman's hand as it grasped her arm tenderly. Hermione then began noticing the warm eyes following her, and the grateful smiles.

In the Hospital Wing, however, the warmth changed to cold seriousness.

"Hermione?" a soft female voice asked from the bed nearest the door.

Padma Patil was wearing an over large white medical coat over an ill-fitting dress. About her neck was a stethoscope and in her hands a clipboard. Padma looked very much like a Muggle doctor.

"Is something wrong?"

Padma stepped toward Hermione, her dark eyes wide with concern. As Hermione studied the woman, she could see how thin she was. In one of the deep pockets of the jacket was Padma's wand.

"No, no, I just wanted to come in and check on a few people, ask if the medical supplies are working out, try and see Harry…"

Padma tucked her clipboard under her arm and grasped Hermione's hand, pulling her close.

Whispering, "The supplies came not a moment too soon, Hermione. Come with me…"

Hermione allowed herself to be pulled down the ward, screened off beds on either side, each cot full. At the far end of the ward were Pomfrey's offices, the stores and dispensary, and several private rooms that Hermione had never been in. It was into Pomfrey's offices that Padma led Hermione, closing the door, but not completely, leaving it slight ajar.

"Could you cast a Muffliato, Hermione?" Padma asked soberly.

Hermione blinked, pulling her wand from her holster on her belt and complying with Padma's request. The effect of the spell was immediate as they stepped further into the office. Hermione found it cramped, magical and Muggle medical texts lining the walls on shelves. There were several filing cabinets against one wall with more books stacked on top. Under a small circular window was an overflowing desk, and sitting in the chair, slumped over and snoring was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Is he alright?" Hermione asked, slipping her wand into her holster again.

Padma leaned back against one of the filing cabinets, sighing. "Exhausted, that's all. He was up all night helping with Nott and a few others.

No one told me he had medical training…"

"Failed out of school," Hermione said, then, "Where's Pomfrey?"

Padma's dark eyes turned to the floor, her neck bowing so that several strands of smooth dark hair slipped from a sloppy bun about Padma's pretty face.

"She's out there, in a bed."

Hermione frowned, glancing to the cracked door.

"She's losing…"

Padma shook her head. "Thankfully, no, but she's older, and for months it has been continuous…healing, trying to ease passings, dealing with families. Poppy's exhausted and ill. She has pneumonia, and if you and the others had not brought back what you did, I was sure I would lose her by the end of the week.

Potions are few and far between. From the most basic to the obscure, the potions stores are nearly empty. Slughorn had so few ingredients since suppliers are gone. He has to do with what he can find in the Forests or grow in the greenhouses. All he really brews that is of any use are Blood-Replenishing Potions, Calming Draughts, and Pepper-up Potions. We had to start using basic antiseptic tinctures and improvised potions for some things…"

Padma sighed rubbing her eyes. Hermione frowned.

"When was the last time you slept, Padma?"

Padma groaned. "Justin and I have agreed on eight hour shifts apiece, I just started…"

Hermione glanced to Justin again, and with a flick of her wand, Transfigured one of the filing cabinets nearest him into a cot. Moving past Padma, Hermione gently Levitated Justin to lie down. It was the least she could do.

"Thanks, Hermione," Padma muttered, barely able to stay on her feet.

"Is there no one else in the castle that has the least bit of medical training?" Hermione asked, her tone becoming irritated.

Padma shrugged, and it seemed to take a great effort. "Poppy had started to ask around when she fell ill. Honestly, Hermione, I don't think some of these people realize how bad off they are…after so long, you would think that they would pitch in to protect the collective well-being of the survivors, but they aren't. Some people have been helpful, volunteering some time to help the elves with laundry, cleaning out bed pans, what have you, but others think they are on some holiday…"

Hermione could imagine exactly whom Padma was talking about. Then, remembering something Malfoy had said…

"Astoria Malfoy has some training, chemists training, I've been told…"

Padma's dark eyes flicked up to Hermione. "Really?" she asked suspiciously. "Any one else?"

Hermione shrugged. "Molly Weasley might be able to help some…"

"She has, quite a bit actually. And Audrey, Ginny and George. I think there a few medics from the Harpies somewhere in the Great Hall, but that was just a rumour…"

Hermione nodded. "I can try and see. Charlie might know better than I would…"

The office fell silent except of Justin's soft snores. Hermione was staring at the door and Padma to her shoes.

"Nott is doing fine," Padma said finally. "Justin did a bang up job with what he had. There's no infection. A few days, I think, and Nott will be on his feet…

His family has been by, and harassed Justin a bit. But… Nott Sr. seemed proud, how odd is that?"

Smiling, Hermione leaned against the end of the filing cabinets. "Considering the state of things, not too odd, I guess."

"Yeah, the state of things," Padma muttered, crossing her arms before her chest. "I lost two young ones yesterday, and Flitwick the day you all left…"

"Flitwick?" Hermione muttered, blinking rapidly.

Padma nodded. "My own Head of House. I couldn't stop it, I cannot stop any of them from dying eventually from lack of magic. The youngest and the oldest go the fastest…"

Hermione's lips trembled, thinking of the other professors who were older. Minerva, Horace, Pomona Sprout, Irma Pince, all was much older, but as far as Hermione knew, none were suffering from the magical flux in Britain.

"How's Jaime and Harry?" Hermione asked finally, moving toward the door.

Padma, again, sighed. "Jaime is slipping gradually away. Poppy had tried everything, but it is the same with all the young ones. He is more resilient than most, but it is as if there an invisible cable running from his body, sucking away all magical essence.

I've told Ginny not to hope. The Weasleys have lost so much already. As has every family here.

But with Harry, he seems to be fine, despite being in a coma. We have done scans, tried potions, but nothing will bring him out of it. Ginny's told me what happened, but Poppy and I both believe there is something else going on in Harry's body, something magical that we can neither detect or treat with our current ability.

You came to see him, didn't you, I nearly forgot…" Padma trailed, dazed.

Hermione cancelled the Muffliato when Padma moved past her and to the door. She followed Padma into the ward, toward a small niche away from the other beds and patients. Hermione found the Hospital Wing very quiet, only hushed voices marking the air. She had almost expected something far worse, screaming, groaning, or worse, begging. An antiseptic smell barely masked the familiar scent of death and dying. Hermione then wondered how one did die from a lack of magic. Was it painful? Was it slow?

Padma paused before reaching the niche.

"He and Jaime are in there. Ginny's been by already and gone, she'll probably be by noontime."

Hermione nodded as Padma turned to walk in the other direction.

"Thanks, Padma," Hermione whispered as Padma passed. The dark eyed woman merely nodded and was gone.

Screens blocked off the niche, and Hermione supposed that Poppy Pomfrey had placed Harry there, secluded, since he was the only survivor of the Ministry ordered executions. By the way Ginny had spoken, none of the family wanted to make it well known that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had had a part in the nation wide holocaust.

Hermione stepped toward the screen, but paused at the sound of a voice. Surely, Jaime was sedated…

"…cheek to cheek. Oh, I'd like to climb mountain, and reach the highest peak, but it doesn't…"

Her wand was drawn, her teeth clenching at the sound of a small, singing voice. Reaching for the screen, Hermione steeled herself as she pushed it back roughly.

"…to cheek…"

A little boy was sitting on a stool next to Harry's bed, sunlight streaming into the niche. Wide dark blue eyes met hers and suddenly the boy was running past Hermione.

"Hey!" she shouted, turning to follow.

The boy wore Hogwarts robes, but she had not managed to see for which House. All she could see was long, messy black hair as the boy pelted down the middle of the ward, faster than Hermione could follow.

The doors banged open, but Hermione was further impeded, running into Padma as she had come to see what the commotion was about.

"Padma! Who is that boy?" Hermione huffed, her heart in her throat, her blood singing the very words the boy had sung.

Padma was bewildered, glancing to the open doors and the distant figure of the boy who immediately disappeared around a corner.

"I don't know, I didn't get a good look…"

From the far end of the ward, from the niche, a loud gasp, like someone choking on air, sounded. Hermione and Padma began running.

Hermione skidded on the stone floor as Padma rushed past. Sitting up in bed, wide emerald eyes searching, and trying to catch his breath, Harry Potter was panicking. Padma tried to lay Harry down, but Harry was fighting Padma.

"Hermione?" Padma asked, a growl in her voice, "help me hold him down!"

Hermione blinked and then moved. At the sound of her name, Harry seemed to calm a bit, and by the time Hermione touched him, he was lying on his back, his hands in Hermione's. Padma stepped back and drew her wand. Hermione paid not attention, staring down into Harry's face and wide eyes.

"It's okay," Hermione whispered. "You're safe, you're at Hogwarts."

"Ginny? The boys? The baby?" Harry wheezed between coughs.

Hermione tried to keep her face passive. "Relax, Harry. We need to make sure you'll alright…"

Harry calmed further, releasing his bone crushing hold on Hermione's hands. Padma seemed to be done with her diagnostic spells and tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

"Harry, I'm just going to be right outside the screens, we need to find out what's happened."

Understanding, but still agitated, Harry nodded.

Hermione rose, her eyes studying her old friend's face. There was a shadow of a beard on his jaw; his black hair was far too long. The old scar was almost unnoticeable as much as it had faded, but overall Harry looked quite fit for being in a coma for months. He was a handsome man, his thirtieth birthday in only a month. Hermione smiled, although her insides were jumping and squirming.

"I cannot find anything physically wrong with him, but I need to do some more tests, Justin…" Padma trailed, swiping hair from her face. "Justin might be able to do it later.

I don't know what is going on, but that boy…"

"Padma, find Ginny," Hermione said darkly. "Something isn't right…"

No more was said, and when Hermione stepped inside the screens it was to find Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the frame of the cot, staring intently at Jaime not ten feet away. Hermione glanced to the boy, a boy who looked very much like Harry.

"Jaime…he's...?"

Harry seemed to have calmed enough to realize that his son was nearby. As Hermione looked at him, dressed in Hospital Wing issue pale blue pyjamas, she was struck at how well he looked, more so than before. Under the thin fabric was healthy muscle tone, his skin was not pale, and his eyes, as they had always been, were brilliant.

"Not well," Hermione supplied moving to sit on the stool, still warm from the boy who had been sitting there.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face roughly with his hand. His glasses set on the bedside table, but he made no motion to reach for them.

"What has happened? Why am I at Hogwarts? More importantly, where the hell have you been, Hermione?"

There was no anger in Harry's voice, just confusion.

"I've…" Hermione began, but shook her head. "Harry, it is very long and complicated story. What's the last thing you remember?"

Harry sat up straighter, his hands resting on his knees. "I think I was at work, at the Ministry…finishing up some paper work in the Aurory. Then… I think I must have been dreaming."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. "It was like the time I died, just before Voldemort…" he trailed, his eyes becoming distant. "I was at King's Cross."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Years ago, Harry had told her and Ron everything that led up to Voldemort's downfall in the Great Hall of the castle. He had told them about seeing his parents, Sirius, Lupin, and then Dumbledore in some place that looked like a waiting room in King's Cross in London. It was a disturbing mental image, Hermione thought at the time.

"I knew I was not dead this time, but I couldn't wake up. And there was this music, playing over and over… It made me sick…"

Hermione moved from the stool to sit next to Harry, an arm reaching about his shoulders. "You know the song?"

Harry nodded. "Aunt Petunia, she… It was a movie that was on the telly, maybe she had it on cassette, but she'd play it sometimes. An old movie, black and white, with this bloke who tap danced and sang…"

The inside of her body seemed to burn. Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead on Harry's shoulder.

"What's wrong, Hermione, are you…?"

"It's nothing," she mumbled, pulling away from Harry. "You're sure it was that song…"

"Cheek to cheek," Harry added. "Yeah. Sometimes, it was that bloke singing it, sometimes it was another voice. A child's voice."

She swallowed thickly, but pressed on. "Does it mean anything to you? Besides your aunt…?"

"No," Harry said airily, his eyes drifting back to little Jaime who slept soundly. Hermione could see how thin the child was, and still his breathing was, but more than that, she could sense an obvious lack of something. It was not just magic, although Hermione could feel the void in the boy.

"Don't mention the song to anyone, Harry, anyone, understand?" Hermione said firmly, her hand moving to squeeze Harry's hand for poignancy.

"Hermione, what's going on? Why are you so thin? And Jaime?"

Hermione opened to her mouth to begin explaining, but the screens moved back and in flew Ginny Potter.

"Oh thank Merlin!" she wailed.

Hermione withdrew even with Harry's eye upon her, mouthing 'later.' Nodding, Hermione left the niche just as Molly, Audrey, George, and little Lucy flew into the ward. The commotion roused other patients, and heads were popping out from behind screens, only a few of which Hermione knew or recognized.

Through the closed doors of the ward, Hermione stopped to lean back into the wall. There were benches along the walls, but Hermione did not sit. Instead, she stood with her back hard pressed into the stone, lifting her chin to breathe.

It could not be a coincidence that the moment a strange boy stopped singing 'Cheek to Cheek' over Harry Potter, the comatose man would wake. The boy, whoever he was, was a danger. Just as Klemper had said, a boy had commanded a resurrected Regulus Black.

Hermione could not understand how a boy would be able to orchestrate such devastation. Children were dying everyday in the castle…

"You look ill, my dear, shall I escort you inside?"

Amber eyes opened and before Hermione, dressed in a pair of black trousers, and white peasant shirt, was Lucius Malfoy, cane in hand. He looked roguish, and it made Hermione frown.

"I'm fine. Are the other two of the 'Three' behind you?"

Lucius blinked. "No…"

Hermione pushed off the wall, "Harry is awake. I was sure someone might have come to the 'Three' about something so important…"

She began to walk past Lucius, anxious to find Charlie, to tell him what Harry had told her. However, before she could pass Lucius, a swift hand grasped her upper arm. With a graceful fluidity, he steered her to a small corridor, leading to Mr. Filch's offices. In the dimly lit, windowless corridor, Hermione struggled free. Lucius blocked the corridor, and Hermione's fingers edged to her wand.

"What do I care about Potter? I'm sure when the survivors get wind of the fact he was one of the many who killed our world, he won't be so well liked."

Hermione said nothing, knowing that Harry had somehow saved himself, with the help of Ginny. For weeks, Hermione had mourned Harry, and to find him alive was perhaps the best news she had had for some time.

"Of course, with Potter awake, Ronald Weasley will have to acquiesce…"

She frowned. "Ron is the best strategist…"

"Really? It seems that you and Mr. Charles Weasley have proved yourselves much better."

Hermione sighed. "Ron is being cautious. He is thinking of the welfare of everyone in this castle…"

"And you are impatient, and have a mind of your own, yes, my dear, that is what I find so endearing," Lucius drawled, stepping closer.

He did not need the cane, and Hermione knew that his feigned weakness was a ploy to make those who were foolish enough to believe that Malfoy was not a threat, docile to his rule. All the same, Hermione had not seen Malfoy use magic either. She could not accurately determine how strong the man was, however, as the tip of his cane dragged over the stone floor, Hermione kept her fingers on her hip, near the handle of her wand.

"And do tell, my dear, what brought on this miraculous awakening?"

She swallowed, but stood her ground as Lucius took another step closer.

"A mystery," she said.

In the dark, narrow corridor, Lucius' silver eyes narrowed. Hermione blinked and looked away, her eyes moving to his hand wrapped about the head of his cane.

"Come now, Hermione, I know evasion when I see it."

Annoyance coursed through her and Hermione lifted her eyes to Lucius' grinning face.

"Let me by," she said sternly.

He chuckled. "Evasion…"

Hermione moved, beginning to pass Lucius when he moved quickly to block her way.

"Tell me, do you have a plan to save our world yet?"

Hermione stepped back, both hands on her hips. "Were you waiting for me to come up with one?"

He chuckled, his voice deep and laced with honest mirth. "Oh, you have such a witty tongue…" Then, darker, "I would like to know how it feels wrapped around my cock."

Her hand flew with a force and speed that would have rivaled Harry's Seeker ability to pluck a Snitch from the air. Her palm stung when it made contact with Lucius strong cheek and jaw, the sound that resulted was sharp and terrible.

However, the sight of her palm print on his face lasted for only a second before his cane clattered to the floor and her body was thrown into the wall. Lucius Malfoy kissed her, roughly, passionately, but Hermione did not respond. Shock, disgust, and confusion kept her from moving or closing her eyes.

Lucius pulled away, stumbling back into the opposite wall near Filch's office door. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then touched the red handprint on his face. His eyes were hard diamonds in his face, his lips curled into a snarl.

"Unworthy Mudblood…" he spat, but continued to stare at her. "Go save the world then, with your handsome Weasley offspring."

Hermione blinked slowly, her mouth tingling unpleasantly.

"Let him fill your womb with another red headed brat. I suppose it is karma…that me and my line die while blood traitors like Weasleys…"

"Shut up."

She had growled it, and as if obeying, Lucius' said no more. Hermione was not sure if there was some sort of magic in her voice, but Lucius could only blink at her.

"You disgust me, Malfoy."

His face crumpled slightly, as if wounded by her words.

"I would not be responsible in bringing another one of your sort into the world. You know nothing about love…"

He opened his mouth to retort, but said nothing.

"Charlie Weasley is the man you wish you could be, Lucius, and for that I would bear his children to spite you."

The ice in her voice made the small corridor darker, colder, although it was supposedly a summer day outside.

"Never touch me again, never look at me, never speak to me…"

He looked to the floor, to his fallen cane, and almost immediately, Hermione thought he looked far older than his years. Before her was a broken and bitter man who had no joy in life even before the world had gone to hell. Hermione almost pitied him. Her anger compelled her to be cruel, when she wished she were not.

"And you would consign me to mere rubbish, Miss Granger, simply because I had offered you my protection?"

She scoffed. "If I did need protection, I would not take it from you."

"Information then?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "At what price?"

Lucius straightened, his face recomposing itself, the pride returning. "A single kiss."

Her laughter filled the corridor, but Lucius stood firm, peering down his long patrician nose at her.

"Nothing is worth that," she laughed.

"Very well. We all shall die here…"

He bent down to retrieve his cane, and when it was firmly in his hand, he turned his back. Hermione said nothing, fully intending to let Lucius Malfoy walk out of her life. He, however, was desperate, she knew. His motives seemed clear, but still Hermione doubted.

"A kiss means nothing," he said over his shoulder, his long hair falling about his face. "Nothing worthy of gossip…"

Hermione sighed.

"Information is what you need, and only I can give it to you. I was closer to the Dark Lord than any of the others huddling in the castle. I will even throw in a few flattering words…"

Shifting, Hermione leaned a shoulder into the wall, looking at the side of Lucius' face. "You've already stolen one," she said, crossing her arms before her chest.

"A mistake, a clumsy reaction. I may be old enough to be your father, my dear, but even I have my desires."

She coughed, "You mean to say that you've been smitten with me since…?"

Lucius turned, "No need to be disgusting, Miss Granger. I am not a paedophile…"

"Just a disgustingly sick old man, yes, I know."

He smirked. "One kiss, and the answers will be closer than you'd think…" he whispered.

"And why tell only me? Why not tell your colleagues, or someone who could move to do something?"

"So they could do _what_? They wouldn't believe me if I told them what I know and have noticed."

Hermione was growing tired. "And what makes you think I would?"

He stepped close again, and Hermione touched her wand handle.

"You have been out there, Miss Granger. You have seen and heard things that would frighten most into a paralytic shock. Besides, you seem to be handling yourself well enough…"

Hermione bit her lower lip. Lucius' eyes followed the movement.

"You want to kiss me…why? It will mean nothing, feel like nothing…"

He leaned closer. "Did you honestly think that all these years of trying to belittle and hedge you at every turn that I was doing it because I hated you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was like the little boy who pushed little girls in mud because they liked them.

"I loved my wife, don't mistake me on that point. But it was so much fun watching you struggle and overcome. It made you beautiful."

She looked to the floor. She just wanted to be free of him, for good.

"Then kiss me. Tell me what you have, and then disappear," Hermione said in a rush, rolling her shoulders against the wall, her body relaxing.

Lucius grinned, stepping closer. "I'll tell you just what you need to know, my dear," he whispered, reaching out to grasp her chin.


	16. 16

16

Charlie was whispering to Oliver Wood in the Great Hall when Ron found him. It was clear by the expression on Ron's scarred face that he was upset.

Charlie stood and nodded to Oliver before following his brother out into the Entrance Hall, through the front doors and onto the grounds. Again, Charlie noticed that there were several fresh graves, and at least two open ones near the front doors.

Since leaving Hermione that morning, Charlie had checked in on all except Theo and Justin, all who had gone out into the dangerous countryside. All seemed to be doing well, enjoying a small bit of celebrity after word got around that they had brought back food and medicine.

"Hermione was kissing Lucius Malfoy…"

Charlie blinked at Ron's disfigured face. Ron had just told him that Harry was awake, and then added his last statement.

"I saw them outside the Hospital Wing. The slimy bastard has had it for her for years. The lawsuits, the editorials, the bad reviews, it was all Malfoy," Ron snarled. "It was his way of 'courting' her, and now…"

Charlie frowned, the sound of feet running over grass catching his attention. Ron's eyes widened as Charlie began to turn. Suddenly, Hermione was in his arms, kissing him soundly. Charlie held her tight as her arms wrapped about his neck. He had no choice but to kiss her back. There were tears on her face, a rare thing that meant serious business to Charlie.

When Hermione pulled away, it was clear that she was not aware of Ron.

"Charlie, we have to go. We have to go now!"

She was clutching his jumper, pulling at him, her golden eyes wide, her lips trembling.

"Wait just a minute, Hermione," Ron growled, moving to Charlie's side.

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but already Ron was on a tirade. Hermione did not seem to listen, her eyes still on Charlie's face.

"Enough, Ron!" Charlie snapped, causing Ron to fall silent and Hermione finally notice Ron.

For mid-June, it was downright frigid outside in the open air. The sky was overcast and Charlie could feel a light drizzle on his face. Slowly, carefully, Charlie took one of Hermione's hands in his and turned to Ron. With a sigh, Charlie spoke.

"Lucius Malfoy said something?" Charlie asked Hermione.

Hermione's eyes moved to the grass under her boots. "Information, it came with a price."

Ron was turning red in the face, his fists clenching.

"And you kissed him? Have you lost your mind, Hermione?" Ron fumed.

Hermione bit her lower lip and then seemed to come back to herself, wiping tears from her face and straightening her back.

"Ron, it was not your business to speak to Charlie about something you saw and did not understand, but I will say this: Lucius Malfoy is not as weak as he seems or claims. I let him kiss me, it was his request in exchange for some information that he has been harbouring."

Ron scarred face flinched.

"Besides," she huffed at Ron, "you need to see to Harry. Your family is with him and you did not even make into the Hospital Wing before running off to tell Charlie of something you wouldn't understand."

Charlie also flinched, but Hermione squeezed his hand gently, a soothing gesture. Ron, however, began to turn a horrible shade of purple. The sound of wind through the distant Forest was the only thing that kept the awkward silence at bay.

"This is not over, Hermione. You are going to tell me everything, _everything_ , you understand?" Ron growled.

Charlie frowned as Ron stalked off toward the castle. There was a jealousy in Ron that Charlie could never understand. Ron had always been brilliant, strong, and likable. The insecurity Ron felt was not due to the way he was raised or anything that their family may have said or done. Ron was sometimes very difficult to understand, but Charlie loved him.

Turning to Hermione, who was also watching Ron stalk away, Charlie grasped her chin, turning her face to his. "I hope his information was worth it," he whispered.

He had to admit he was a little upset that Hermione would let someone like Lucius Malfoy kiss her, let alone touch her. The night Malfoy came to the DADA office, Charlie had been put on edge, and not just because he was affronted by the man, but because the man was dangerous for anyone involved or near him.

"It was," she whispered back. She took a step back, pulling her hand from his. She wiped again at her face, but Charlie could still see tear tracks on her face. "Walk with me…"

Charlie waited as they walked, around the castle, past the unmarked graves, toward the greenhouses. Hermione finally stopped near the Whomping Willow, sitting down on the damp grass, pulling her hands into the sleeves of her shirt. Charlie realized it was one of the layers she had been wearing when they first met in London, the pattern on the fabric odd and pale green. Charlie sat to her right, nodding to Diggle and another man as they patrolled the grounds.

"Did Ron ever tell you about the time when we all thought Harry had died…at the last battle?"

Charlie shook his head, "No. I remember that I was fighting with one of the Lestrange brothers when Harry was brought back…"

Hermione nodded. "You see, Harry did die, in a manner of speaking and when he did, he saw things. I guess it was like the gateway between one world and the next. He saw Dumbledore there. Harry said it was King's Cross, only brighter, cleaner."

Charlie said nothing, turning his head to look at Hermione who was hugging her knees tightly against her.

"Harry mentioned seeing the last remaining fragment of Voldemort's soul there—a flayed baby, crying terribly. Harry had almost seen to the baby, but Dumbledore warned Harry away.

Then Harry came back to us all, destroyed Voldemort when the Curse rebounded…"

Charlie nodded. "I remember all too well," he said darkly.

Hermione's lips trembled. "I believe Harry thought he had destroyed that bit of Voldemort's soul…but…"

She glanced to Charlie, her golden eyes damp, her fear clear on her face. Charlie could only study Hermione, and listen.

"There's a boy here, in this castle, who knows very well how to destroy us."

He frowned. "What Klemper saw…?" he trailed, his eyes moving to the sick looking willow below them.

"I think I found him this morning. He was singing over Harry, the song…"

"Who is he?"

Hermione shook her head roughly, a sob passing her lips. "I don't know, but there are only a few children in the castle now, and this one was wearing Hogwarts robes."

The possibility that Klemper had been right, it still seemed wrong. How could a child get past the wards protecting the castle unnoticed? Charlie clenched his teeth, the answer before him.

The Whomping Willow.

"Harry told me what he saw in his coma…King's Cross, empty. He heard the music, and it sickened him…

But the worst of it, is what Lucius told me…"

Hermione's right hand moved from about her knees to touch Charlie's forearm gently. Charlie turned to Hermione, aching to take her into his arms.

"He has mentioned the Horcrux cave several times, suggesting that someone, I, go and investigate. He finally gave my a good reason to go now…"

Hermione swallowed thickly, her face paling more than Charlie thought possible.

"Lucius showed me his Dark Mark."

Charlie blinked, not understanding at first. Slowly, realization came, and then flooded him. Nausea swept through him and he had to look away from Hermione's grave face.

"Others, ex-Death Eaters, have come to Lucius, secretly. Nott Sr., Goyle Sr., all the old ones who are now taking refuge here. There are not many who have the Mark now, but it is reacting, albeit faintly. Lucius showed me, had me touch his…"

He ground his teeth, imagining the expression of satisfaction on Malfoy's face at Hermione's touch. Malfoy was most likely jubilant… No, Charlie knew better. Malfoy was just as relieved as the Order that Voldemort was dead.

But 'he' wasn't truly gone, was he?

"It is just enough to have Malfoy on edge, though he has been hiding it. It is the last magical thing left in his body, and he's feeding off it. The Protean Charm has been dead for over a decade, and now…"

"Did he say when it started?" Charlie asked, remembering Draco Malfoy.

Hermione shrugged. "Lucius could not say for certain, but did mention that there had been phantom pains since last autumn. He had ignored it, phantom pains are a side effect, I am assuming," Hermione sighed. "But now… Its gone beyond phantom pains to a dull burning, Lucius said. It is constant, and getting stronger."

"So…" Charlie began, but fell silent, not sure if he was understanding. The conjectures forming in his brain were impossible, or at the very least, improbable, but terrifying nonetheless. "Someone has somehow taken the last piece of Voldemort…"

Hermione shuddered. "How, why, it will have to wait. Lucius convinced me of one thing."

"And that is?" Charlie ground out, hating the way Hermione said Malfoy's name.

Hermione's eyes were suddenly very clear. "We go to the Horcrux cave. We stop the power behind the Inferi, and then deal with the possibility that Voldemort is not as dead as we all would like."

* * *

Hermione knew that there was more to deal with than simply the Inferi. The fact that magical ability was leaving the majority of the surviving Wizarding population had to be addressed. Even as she sat in silent introspection in the light rain above the Whomping Willow, she knew that the Seal had to be lifted.

Destroy the one controlling the Inferi, and the Inferi would revert to the harmless dead. That had to be accomplished first, and then the Seal removed.

Whoever had used the witches and wizards to cast the Holokauston had made no more moves since the initial attack. If it were a boy… Hermione's teeth chattered.

The boy she had seen. Who was he? It was no coincidence that when Hermione frightened the boy away, Harry awoke, was it? Lucius was convinced that somewhere the Dark Lord was biding his time, waiting, using what he could to take his final revenge on those who had destroyed his body and his power.

Three times, the Devil's hand, Kreacher had said, and it was to Kreacher Hermione would go. If anyone could help her reach the Horcrux cave, it would be the elf that had the most dealings with the place. Lucius alluded to the cave so often, but had said almost nothing of it in the small, dark corridor.

Hermione could still taste his mouth, and it made her ill.

"We should talk to Marcus and the others," Charlie said, breaking their collective silence as the day moved on. "They were the ones to mention that 'someone' was in the castle."

Taking a tremulous breath, Hermione nodded.

"I want to see Harry again," she whispered. "There has to be something…"

Something only Harry would know, she had meant to say. Not just about Voldemort, but about the Seal as well.

* * *

By evening, the 'Three' had been to speak with Harry, Charlie learned from Ginny. It had not gone well, by Ginny's description. Waiting in Pomfrey's office, whispering as not to bother a sleeping Patil, Ginny was bordering on mental exhaustion. Hermione held Ginny in her arms as his sister explained how horrible it had been trying to make Harry understand what was happening.

"He takes so much on himself. He thinks that this is all his fault. He won't leave Jaime's bedside now. With Al and Lily gone, I don't think I can go on without Jaime…" Ginny wept.

"We need to talk to him, Gin, privately," Charlie murmured, his hand cupping his sister's face.

Ginny's blue eyes widened for a moment, staring up into Charlie's face, and slowly she nodded. "I know… I can feel it," she whispered. "This is going to end soon, isn't it?"

"We hope so," Hermione whispered.

"There are so many things we don't know, and with Harry awake, perhaps some of it can be cleared up," Charlie murmured.

Ginny sighed. "It feels like old times, doesn't it?" she said to Hermione.

Hermione's arms tightened around Ginny. "I… That… I hope not," Hermione stumbled, her eyes falling to the floor.

Ginny embraced Hermione in return and slowly stepped away, grasping Charlie's folded arms. "I'm glad that you're here, Charlie," she whispered. "You have always been so strong, so level-headed. With Ron the way he is… We cannot count on him as we used to…"

Charlie frowned, "What do you mean?"

Ginny licked her lips, glancing back to Hermione. "Besides the fact that he is walking around with quite a bit of responsibility on his shoulders, he is losing his magic more and more every day. As am I…"

Hermione fidgeted, and then stepped toward the door.

"Ron will be alright, most of us will, but the others, they aren't reacting well to all this…" Ginny continued. "And I understand why you will have to go…"

Charlie blinked. "Gin?"

Ginny smiled sadly. "I maybe a step up from a Squib, but I can still tell when Hermione has hatched a plan and you are ready to leave us behind, big brother."

Charlie took Ginny in his arms, crushing his little sister against his chest. It was hard to believe that Ginny was old enough to be a mother three times over; to Charlie she was still a tiny girl running about his legs begging for attention.

"Just let me know when you both are done, and please, try to bear with Harry… He's…" Ginny trailed, tears thickening her voice again.

After a few moments of composing themselves, Hermione walked with Charlie to the little niche that held the only two Potter males left in all of Britain. Charlie was anxious. He and Harry had always gotten on well, but there was always a distance between them, partly due to their age. However, when Charlie laid eyes on Harry lying on Jaime's bed with the small boy cradled against his chest, Charlie felt his heart begin to break.

Harry had been a wonderful father. Christmas was the only true example Charlie could compare. At Christmas, Harry Potter was always Father Christmas to the Potter and Weasley children. He was always laughing and playing with the children, all of them. He was the favourite uncle in more ways than one. He was the doting father, protective, instructive, and loving. Charlie marveled at Harry Potter when Jaime was born, the happiness Charlie felt, and saw was astoundingly warming.

As Charlie looked at Harry, stroking Jaime's dark hair, there was still a gentleness about the man who had saved the Wizarding world, a warmth that made Charlie's heart burn. Harry always made Charlie wonder what it was like to be truly in love.

Ginny spoke quietly to Harry whose green eyes were rimmed in red from many tears. They kissed softly and Ginny pulled away, her fingers brushing through Jaime's hair. She nodded to Charlie and moved past Hermione, shutting the screens behind her, standing guard.

"It's good to see you, Charlie," Harry said quietly as Jaime slept against his wide chest, his mouth partially open, his cheeks slightly flushed.

Charlie nodded, unable to speak; unable to think of a good excuse why he had not been to see his nephew sooner. Hermione, however, moved to sit on a stool beside the bed, her hand reaching out to brush a piece of hair from Harry's eyes and then brushing Jaime's cheek lovingly.

"Gin's told me that you two have been out to forage for food and medicine. I'm glad…" Harry said distantly, his voice rough. "She's told me everything…"

Hermione glanced to Charlie and Charlie sat on Harry's empty cot.

"Now, tell me about the music, 'mione. I need to know."

Hermione said nothing for a moment and from where Charlie sat, he could not see her face.

"There's so many questions, Harry, I barely know where to begin."

Harry tried to smile, the lamplight beside the bed catching his green eyes and the smooth skin of his old scar.

"From the beginning?" he suggested.

Hermione chuckled sadly, and slowly, began. Charlie listened to Hermione's words, knowing very well that she had a far tougher time than he had. When Hermione turned on the stool, Charlie filled in his side of the story. Harry listened passively, only his eyes burning hotly green at times, or his jaw clenching.

When Charlie finished, Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. Charlie could see that Hermione seemed bothered by the gesture.

"It's nothing, Hermione. Habit, I guess," Harry said as if to answer her unsaid question. "So you both have been hearing the song, perhaps in connection to the presence of magical life or power?"

"We still cannot be sure. Sometimes, that seems to be the case, other times, not. We're not the only ones who have heard it. Most of those who went out with us to forage have heard it, but we have all agree not to speak of it.

Then, this morning, the boy…" Hermione trailed.

Harry shifted little Jaime and met Hermione's eyes. "I have no recollection of a boy, but this Klemper…he mentioned seeing a boy?"

Hermione nodded. Charlie shifted on the bed, feeling a bit on the outside. He knew that Ron, Hermione and Harry were very close, and to see Hermione and Harry speaking, Charlie knew that there were some dynamics he would never understand.

"I, we, wanted to ask about the Seal, Harry. If anyone left would know anything about it, it would be you," Hermione whispered.

Harry smirked. "Yes… I know enough about it to know that it was a mistake that the Ministry should have enacted it. And, I can tell you how to disable it."

Charlie straightened. "Malfoy thought he knew…"

Harry scoffed. "The Malfoys…" he muttered darkly. "They only knew as much as the Ministry would allow them to know. Draco Malfoy died in vain.

After the War, when Kingsley was installed as Minister, he brought with him the plans he and Moody made. Apparently, it started with the help of Dumbledore after we went to the Department of Mysteries in Fifth Year. By the time I was brought in through the Aurory, the hardest part of the spell had been completed. All the calculations, the people needed, the magic required, it was all figured in. I was brought in to start implementation of the plan. I was told that Dumbledore had wanted me in on the plan…

Magical locations were chosen due to the high concentration of earth magic. Glastonbury Abbey, the Loe, all those places you mentioned that were devoid of magic was places chosen to power the Seal. I suppose now, those places are desolate wastelands. To maintain the Seal, magical energy would be siphoned off living things, creatures, and people. It was a matter of last resort, worst-case scenario. The Ministry believed that it would never come to this…crisis would have been averted, the Seal undone…"

Charlie shivered. No crisis had been averted, it was upon them.

"The people chosen to erect the Seal were used because they had power, or because they volunteered in exchange for leniency. The Malfoys only worked on the Seal in Wiltshire, using the various spots in the county to act as 'batteries' for the Seal. The circles, Stonehenge, other places…"

"How do we end the spell?" Hermione asked quickly, her face still hidden to Charlie.

Harry blinked slowly. "Two ways," he mumbled. "The Seal will only come down when we all die, all that have magical ability—creatures and wizards alike. We are powering the Seal."

Charlie stood slowly, moving to stand next to Hermione. "And the other way?" he asked.

"Waking the Red Dragon again, at Dinas Emrys."

Charlie blinked, his mouth falling open to form a question, but none came.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked in an agitated whisper.

Harry smiled sadly. "Good question. Blame Dumbledore…"

Charlie's hand moved to Hermione's shoulder, his mouth shutting with a snap. He knew. Anyone in his position as a Dragon Keeper knew the legends.

Charlie however, could not say more as Harry shifted, sliding Jaime from his chest to lay the boy on the bed, placing his head on the pillow. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the blankets over Charlie's ailing nephew, and then regarded Hermione soberly.

"Regulus Black. You are absolutely sure it was him?"

"As sure as we can be, considering," Hermione murmured. "I thought I had killed him…"

Harry sighed, rubbing at his forehead again, ruffling his shaggy black hair. Then, adjusting the glasses on his face, his eerie emerald eyes settled on Charlie for a moment then back to Hermione.

"I never knew much about Regulus. Walburga's portrait often called him her 'one joy' before I blasted the damned thing for frightening Al."

Charlie vaguely recalled the episode, Ginny mentioning at Christmas two years before. Why Harry and Ginny stayed at Grimmuald Place always baffled Charlie. Even with the Black's old elf staying indefinitely at Hogwarts, the house was still dark and downright depressing to Charlie the few times he had visited.

"I know just as much as was revealed when Dumbledore took me to the Horcrux cave…" Harry trailed, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Hermione's face. "You are going to go there, aren't you?"

"If it is where this started, with the Inferi, it might be the clue we need to free us from Hogwarts," Hermione whispered.

Charlie's hand squeezed her thin shoulder, urging her to be honest and forthright with Harry. If there was a possibility to eliminate the Inferi, there was a possibility that their world would not be a complete loss.

Harry sighed, and then, in a brisk, harsh tone: "Kreacher!"

The sound of Harry's voice started Hermione, even more so as a low pop sounded, and a disgusting elf appeared near the foot of Jaime's cot.

"Master called?" the elf croaked, bowing stiffly.

Harry shifted on the cot, and stared at the elf for a long moment. "Tell us again, Kreacher, as you told Dumbledore, about Regulus Black."

The elf lifted his head slowly, his jaundiced eyes moving to Hermione and then to Charlie. The elf muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'blood traitor,' but began speaking slowly. Charlie had heard parts of the story, but Hermione and Harry listened, as if they did not know the story the elf began telling.

"Master knows it was years ago, when Kreacher still served the Noble House of Black. Master knows that Regulus Black sought to weaken the Dark Lord by taking Slytherin's locket. Kreacher had to watch my dear heart drink that potion, watch him be dragged down by those things, watch him be drowned.

The Dark Lord had used Kreacher, had Kreacher drink the foul potion, my dear heart grew angry and saw how to overcome the Dark Lord. After these many years, it pains Kreacher…and now Kreacher hears those things outside…"

Harry lifted his chin, "Where is the cave, Kreacher, where exactly?"

Kreacher shifted on his hairy, bare feet, grasping the hem of his filthy rag he wore. "Master wants to go there?"

There was no concern in the elf's voice, but veiled curiosity.

"Perhaps. Tell me."

Kreacher glanced to Hermione; Charlie wondered what the elf was thinking as its eyes bored into Hermione's face.

"Kreacher remembers following the Dark Lord to a village on the seashore. There was a castle down the cliffs, an ancient, powerful place that made Kreacher feel ill. The Dark Lord took Kreacher down the cliffs at low tide. The cave was a terrible place, dark power, dark memories… Muggles died there, but their souls were not gone. Angry, murderous souls…"

"Where, Kreacher?" Harry gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Tintagel, Kreacher thinks."

Charlie inhaled, having not noticed that he had been holding his breath in anticipation.

"Master wants to go there?" Kreacher asked again.

Harry said nothing, his eyes on his knees. Hermione, however, quietly thanked Kreacher.

"Go back, Kreacher, that's all for now," Harry whispered, weary.

The elf bowed again, and was suddenly gone with a pop. It seemed that the elf still had ability yet, and Charlie idly wondered about the other creatures in the castle in the Forest.

"So it was Cornwall," Hermione mused. "It makes sense, we had assumed…"

"You were the one who assumed, Hermione. I never thought much of it until now," Harry said over her, his hand reaching out to grasp her left wrist. "I want to go with you."

"No."

Charlie watched Harry's face harden.

"I should be the one, Hermione…"

"You have to take care of your family, Harry. Besides, you have no idea if you are able to go anywhere. I haven't even thought about how to go about anything yet."

"But it's my fault! I could have stopped this, I could have stopped the Ministry from raising the Seal in the first place!"

Hermione's right hand moved to wrap about Harry's wrist, and Charlie felt as if he were intruding.

"You were Imperius'd, how could have known…"

Harry's eyes glittered in the lamplight. "I was Imperius'd…" he muttered, glancing toward the light. "I keep trying to remember something, anything… All I remember was being in the Ministry."

Hermione sighed, pulling free from Harry's grasp. "You need to rest now, Harry, eat something. The longer you are with us, awake, the better you'll be able to remember."

Shaking his head, Harry groaned. "It's too much. All of this…"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ginny was pushing through the screens. "Padma is coming," she whispered, meeting Charlie's eyes.

Enough, Ginny's eyes said to him, and Charlie nodded. With a squeeze on Hermione's shoulder, she rose from the stool. Charlie moved to Ginny taking her in a one-arm embrace while Hermione kissed Harry's brow in a sisterly fashion.

Charlie walked in front of Hermione as they left the Hospital Wing. When they reached their rooms in the DADA offices, Hermione flopped down into the floor before the fireplace, staring into the fire.

Sitting in the nearest armchair, Charlie could only watch her, knowing that Hermione was traveling down a mental pathway, unaware of him.

"Tell me about Dinas Emrys."

The sound of her voice startled him, as did her eyes as she turned to look up at him from the floor.

"It's an ancient hill fort in Wales, north of the Reserve, but part of Snowdonia National Park. But in Welsh Magical history, it is a place where defeated dragons were buried."

Hermione cocked her head. "And the 'Red Dragon?'"

Charlie smiled. "Legend. It deals with Vortigern and the young Merlin."

Hermione blinked and already Charlie could see the movement of her mind behind her amber eyes. "The battle of the two 'vermes,' the white Saxon dragon and the Red Briton Dragon?"

He nodded. Hermione _was_ the brightest witch he ever knew.

"It is a place that is avoided by our kind, for various reasons. The Welsh believe that Merlin buried a treasure there, and a fair haired, pale-eyed person would discover it. How that came be, is a mystery. Others believed that upon approaching the hill, if one were lucky, they would hear a bell that would lead them to the cave with Merlin's treasures. If they were not lucky, a terrible sound would drive them away…

The truth is, the treasure had been found long ago and lost. The remains of ancient dragons are buried there, but left alone. It is somewhat of a haunted place."

Hermione frowned. "And to dispel the Seal, we have to…"

Charlie shrugged. "I have never been there, to Dinas Emrys. All I know is what I have been told, but I know where it is."

"And maybe when we go, we'll know what to do," Hermione grumbled. "It would figure that Dumbledore would have some hand in all this…"

Charlie said nothing, watching Hermione turn back to the fire. He was not sure what she was planning, but whatever it was and whatever it meant, he knew he would be at her side.


	17. 17

17

The excitement of the day, the boy, Harry's waking, Lucius' words, and Kreacher's revelation had exhausted Hermione. She had to force her mind to stop moving, but it was almost impossible for her as she lay next to Charlie. He slept soundly, breathing deeply. He had his arm under her neck, having rolled onto his back, sprawled across the bed. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled as she used his right forearm as a partial pillow.

For the first time, in a long time, Hermione felt safe next to Charlie. Then, Hermione had a sudden fear. Would he always be by her side, would he survive the world, for that matter, would she?

Hermione had come to rely on Charlie much as she had Harry and Ron years before, but it was different somehow. As much as she had loved Harry and Ron, Charlie was different. He was independent, pensive, mature…

Charlie sighed in his sleep, moving to roll toward her, his left arm curling about her hip so he hugged her close. Hermione blinked slowly, taking in Charlie's clean soapy scent from his bath. His body was warm, his bare chest pressing into her shoulder.

The fear and worry drained away slowly. There were some things she would have to accept and appropriate to a time that she could do something about it all.

Charlie kissed her temple, his fingers gathering her nightgown at her hip. His touch sent shivers through her body and she moved, turning to face him.

Kissing his sleeping face, Hermione felt him sigh again. She could feel his arousal against her hip under flannel pyjama bottoms. Hermione's hands traced along the line of hair on his chest to his belly where the muscles twitched, his cock jerking in the tented flannel.

Hermione smirked, sex and madness, she thought, it seemed to go well together.

Charlie rolled onto his back again, but kept a strong hold on her, bringing her body along so that she lay half over him. He was slightly aware, she knew, but unguarded, having a waking dream of sorts.

When she pushed his pyjama pants down to let the cool air hit his straining cock, she saw his eyes flicker in the dim darkness of the room. When her mouth enclosed over the head of his cock, he grunted.

Sex had been something that gave clarity at times, releasing her physical stress to allow her mind to move properly and unhindered. Of course, sex was more than that to her, it was a sacred rite of sorts, and with Charlie Weasley, it was something wrought of newfound love in a loveless world.

Taking his length into her throat, she sucked gently, tongue wrapping about the underside. Charlie mumbled something indistinct, his head rolling on the pillow. Hermione smirked around his cock and grasped the base firmly. Oral sex was one thing that she felt she was good at—Ron, many years before, had been a strict teacher on how to please him. In a way, Hermione resented Ron's commandeering attitude when it came to pleasing him. Charlie was not Ron, and Hermione knew she had to stop thinking of Ron all together…

In defiance of that memory, she struggled with her free hand to lift the hem of her nightgown to reach the waistband of her knickers. Her fingers found her clit, the curls surrounding it already sticky with arousal. The slide of the pad of her finger over the nubbin made her mouth suck harder, her head move faster over him.

Charlie whimpered, and then opened his eyes, staring down at Hermione in the near darkness. He mumbled something that sounded like a curse, and his hand moved to cup her cheek.

"Wicked witch," he whispered, loud enough for her to hear. "I thought…"

He did not finish, his mouth opening to let out a groan, his head falling back into the pillows. Hermione hummed around his cock, pausing to suck on the head, tasting bitter pre-come.

Charlie surged upward, grasping her under the arms and pulling her body up along his own. He pulled her nightgown away, throwing it somewhere to the floor, his hands moving to her knickers. Hermione sighed as he simply pushed the fabric aside, his finger rubbing against the sticky curls.

She straddled him, the underside of his cock against her skin, as his fingers roughly tugged the crotch her knickers further aside.

"Lovely, lovely…" he whispered, grasping her hips to lift her slightly, letting the natural stiffness of his cock spring up from his belly. "…wanted to fuck you…"

His voice was almost a whisper, but gruff, and dark. It exhilarated her, and her hand moved to position him at her entrance. His hands found her breasts, cupping, squeezing, until he sat up to taste, all the while Hermione sank down. A long, low cry came from her lips as her body adjusted to his girth.

Charlie growled into her breast, his arms wrapped about her, his mouth latching on to her left nipple. Hermione's head fell back as she began to move, her hips lifting and falling. It was not fast enough, it was not deep enough, but the sensation of being connected and full was enough to drive logical thought away for a while. Her hands found his shaggy dark red hair and pulled his face from her breast to nip at his lips.

Hermione kissed him with force, pushing him back on the bed as her back arched and spine slithered. Her hips slammed down on his cock, getting the depth she wanted. Ripping her lips away, she groaned, his hands on her hips to meet her thrusts.

"Gods," she whispered, her head rolling on her shoulders to gaze into Charlie's face, his jade green eyes catching the little light in the room and flashing.

It is not enough, she decided. Charlie was of the same mind and in a complicated twist of bodies and limbs, her knickers torn away, leaving burn marks on her hips and his pyjama pants are thrown in the same direction as her nightgown. Hermione was grasping a foot post, on her knees; her hair tangled in Charlie's fingers as he bit the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"…wanted you like this," he mutters as the head of his cock pushed inside. "…fuck you like this…"

Hermione groaned, Charlie's voice deep and predatory, filthy, obscene.

The thrust in made her cry out, grasping the foot post so her body did not fly off the end of the bed. Charlie's fingers bruised her hips, holding her close as the brutal rhythm started. She could not breathe, could not think, and for once, she found a peace she had missed since the world had gone topsy-turvy. The bestiality of sex made Hermione feel alive and human again.

Charlie leaned over her back, pressing open-mouthed kisses into her shoulders, her back, along her spine. Hermione could not keep track of where and how he touched her, the slick slide of his cock in and out of her body distracting her. She could feel his thighs slap against her bottom, his sac brush against her clit with every movement.

"Please…"

She was begging for something, but was not sure what to call it. It would not be climax exactly, but something more exquisite, more profound. Hermione could feel him deep inside her, all around her, and all she could do was hang to the bedpost to anchor herself to the moment.

When his hands found her swaying breasts, Hermione hiccupped a breath as his fingers pinched her nipples cruelly causing her to release her anchor and jerk upwards into his chest.

"So…good…" he gasped, changing the angle, a hand slipping to her breast and around her hip to pinch at her nubbin.

Hermione's throat burned from a scream as she came, juices dripping from her body to coat their thighs and the bed below. She felt as if the primal scream emanating from some depth of her soul lasted forever, but the scream had ended and been replaced with another wailing noise.

Charlie stilled suddenly, his arms moving to her waist to pull her close. His chin was pressed into her shoulder, his body rigid.

The wailing sound echoed all around them, a terrible screech, and a shrill whistle. Hermione bucked her hips, but Charlie's arms tightened.

"What…?" she asked, her voice rough, her body aching.

Charlie held her fast, listening. Distantly there was movement, and the window outside the room brightened. Hermione could not understand for a moment, but when understanding came, she felt her body clench down on Charlie's cock, causing him to grunt.

"A klaxon…the castle is under attack," he whispered angrily, quickly.

Hermione still could not manage to take a proper breath and as Charlie pulled away, slipping out of her body, his erection flagging, she groaned. Charlie was on his feet, grabbing his wand from the bedside table, Charming the candles to light, Charming clothing from the little cupboard near the lavatory. Hermione blinked rapidly, her pussy still contracting.

"Wand, clothes!" Charlie snarled over the klaxon.

Hermione blinked, and moved.

Frustration turned to fear, a new rush of adrenaline coursing through her. She clasped her hand about her wand, and as quickly as Charlie, Charmed her clothing onto her body, feet slipping into her boots, hand snatching the strap of her sniper rifle.

Suddenly, they were running, along with hundreds of others, to battle. Hermione could still feel Charlie inside her, even as the sky lit up with fire and Inferi began to trickle onto the grounds.

* * *

Charlie had to push through people running every which way in the Entrance Hall. There was order to the chaos, children going to the dungeons, adults to the Great Hall, and able bodied witches and wizards rushing out the front door to the grounds. Charlie followed the rush out onto the grounds, Hermione by his side, her Muggle gun strapped over her right shoulder, her wand in her left.

Spotting Oliver Wood, Charlie headed toward him and Wood's wife Joanna whose snarling face was pointed at the sky.

"What's…?" was all Charlie could manage before Oliver noticed him and began yelling over the wail of the klaxon that seemed to emanate from the castle at their backs.

"They've somehow weakened the wards at the gate, McGonagall and the others are taking care of that, but…"

Charlie did not hear the rest of Oliver's words, as the sky seemed to light up with silver and violet Whiz-bangs. Charlie watched as the balls of fire arced up from somewhere in Hogsmeade, falling toward the grounds. They were not Whiz-bangs, Charlie decided, as the balls of fire seemed to scatter on the invisible bubble of warding over the grounds.

"Fiendfyre!" someone shouted further down the gentle slope toward the gates.

Spotlights, magical, from the castle, moved over the grounds towards Hogsmeade, to the gates, and to the skies.

Some people were running toward the gates, others back to the castle.

"I'm heading for the gates!" Joanna yelled over the klaxon and crackling of fire. Charlie watched as Oliver nodded.

The fire lit the sky, the grounds, and the castle in a beautifully lethal light and suddenly, more balls of fire came more quickly, slamming against the wards.

Charlie could only watch in horror as the first ball of fire managed to burst through the ward, slamming like a meteor to the grounds near the gate. Fire streaked across the grave strewn ground, setting everything in a twenty-foot radius aflame. He could hear the screams over the klaxon and clutched his wand tighter.

Hermione was shuddering, but as Millicent Bulstrode brushed past, muttering to Hermione, Charlie moved to follow the larger witch.

"Get skyward!" a voice called to Hermione, distracting Charlie for a moment, causing him to turn to see Harry Potter still in his Hospital Wing pyjamas, a Firebolt broom in his hand.

Charlie opened his mouth to shout at Hermione, but Millicent Bulstrode had turned and grabbed his arm, pulling him away.

"Help, Weasley, if you can!" Bulstrode growled, her dark blue eyes flashing the light of the Fiendfyre smashing into the ground fifty feet away.

Charlie caught Hermione's eye even as Harry tossed her the broom. Hermione nodded to him, and suddenly was airborne.

"Move, Weasley!"

Charlie had no time to search the skies and began running next to Bulstrode to the gate where McGonagall, the Flints, the Woods and several other were staving off the flood of Inferi somehow slipping through the gates.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, keeping one eye on the gates, and another on the projectile fire beginning to come at a higher frequency, and falling through the weakened wards. At one point, Charlie grabbed Busltrode and tackled her to the ground as silver fire exploded the ground near them.

"Ta, Weasley," Bulstrode said gruffly, helping him to his feet to pull him toward the gates.

Charlie knew next to nothing about the woman, but she was as sturdy and as strong as man. By the time they reached the gates, the pile of Inferi bodies seemed to block the others from coming through. McGonagall was still except for her wand movement, gliding through the dark air like a conductor's wand. Charlie figured she was some how weaving a spell to strengthen the wards.

"Weasley! Over here, you too Bulstrode!" Katie Flint bellowed where she was kneeling on the ground next to a bloodied older wizard and Cho Chang. "Get them back!"

Bulstrode did not hesitate, casting several Explosive Hexes at the heads of some still moving Inferi that had crawled from the pile blocking the gates. Charlie hesitated, glancing to McGonagall, dressed in a tartan dressing gown, her silvery hair in a long braid over one shoulder. Standing around her, in a defensive posture were Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood, and his sister-in-law Audrey.

Charlie moved, lifting the elderly wizard in his arms, knowing that the man had been severely mauled by Inferi, and began to run back to the castle. Balls of Fiendfyre fell all around and twice Charlie had to run around charred corpses, and burning graves. However, by the time someone pulled the wizard from his arms Bulstrode passing off an unconscious Cho Chang, the screams from the grounds assaulted his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diggle push Mr. Lovegood out of the way of a projectile only to go up in screaming flames while Joanna Wood tried to put out the fire in the back of Mr. Lovegood's night robes.

Charlie began running again to the two people only to be pushed out of the way himself by Bulstrode as fire exploded all around him. Charlie rolled over fire, but was not burned, while Bulstode's body lit up like a Roman candle. He could only watch, Bulstrode not screaming as her hair and skin fell away from sinew, her large body crumpling to the ground.

"Shit… Shit!" came from his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Overhead, there was a flash, but not from Fiendfyre. Charlie began coughing at the smell of burning flesh and soil, but he saw Hermione glide around the projectile fire, rising up to the half collapsed Astronomy Tower, her rifle poised against her shoulder.

She was looking, he realized, trying to pinpoint the source of the Fiendfyre.

Joanna Wood's screams distracted him as Dennis Creevey carried her in his arms to the castle, her hands blackened, fingers burnt away. Another wizard was Levitating Xenophilius Lovegood, his back burnt horribly, the older man moaning in pain.

Charlie swallowed down vomit, his eyes turning to the gates again. In the distance, McGonagall finished weaving the ward shut and was being helped to run by Marcus toward the castle.

"Where's Katie?" Charlie shouted, running toward Marcus.

At Charlie's question, Marcus whirled, dark eyes wide.

"Kate? Katie!" Marcus began shouting as the klaxon's wail lessened by the sizzle of fire still raging around them.

"I'm here!" a voice called, and through thick black smoke, Katie Flint emerged, limping next to none other than his baby brother, his face streaked with soot and blood.

Marcus took Katie from Ron, and nodded to the younger Weasley.

Ron looked exhausted, but fit enough to fight and before Charlie could question his brother, Ron began.

"McGonagall has fortified the breach, but she has to get into the castle to fix the other wards… Where's Hermione?" Ron asked gruffly, sounding as if he had inhaled too much smoke.

Charlie opened his mouth, but Ron grabbed him and pulled as another ball of fire began closing on their position on the ground. The ground shook as the fire hit and Ron was cursing under his breath as they ran back toward the castle. Charlie did not have time to speak, his eyes moving to the sky.

He spotted Hermione manoeuvring closer to the ward, her wand drawn.

"What _is_ she doing?" Ron hissed, having followed Charlie's gaze.

Charlie could not answer, as suddenly, light streaked from her wand like a bolt of lightning toward Hogsmeade, piercing the ward. His heart quickened as he watched the silver bolt of spell disappeared into the darkness of Hogsmeade.

Then, as if his world had sped up to three times its normal speed, there was a reverse flash of light, the Firebolt under Hermione exploded into wooden shards, and Hermione was hurtling to the ground.

"No!"

The word had not come from Charlie's mouth though every fibre of his being was screaming it. Instead, it had come from behind him, and as he turned to look, the flash of spell fire blinded him.

* * *

"Find the source!" Harry had said, tossing her the Firebolt.

There was no time to question how Harry knew to come to the front doors or why he would entrust her with his Firebolt, one he had recovered years before, so she nodded and mounted the broom.

Death was all around, Hermione could see as she pushed off the ground, rising fast into the air above the castle. In the distance, she could see McGonagall and the others trying to mend the ward as well as stop the Inferi from overwhelming the grounds. She could see Charlie and Millicent Bulstrode running to the gate even as balls of Fiendfyre arced across the night sky.

She ignored the agonized screams and the scent of magical fire, and lifted her rifle to press it into her shoulder. Curling her thumb about her wand, she tried to keep her balance on the broom. Adrenaline coursed through her as she activated the 'night vision' spell on the scope and pointed it toward Hogsmeade.

The swell of Inferi in the vale between the castle and the village was horrifying, but she ignored it as she moved the scope to the village proper and the source of the projectile Fiendfyre spells. Moving her fingers to adjust a dial on the scope, she found the source.

The flash of fire overhead forced her to drop the rifle, the strap cutting into her shoulder as she grasped the broom to dodge. The wards overhead were weakened, and below, the ground exploded with fire. The screams grew worse, drifting up to her ears so that she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

The source was near the ruins of the Hog's Head, and Hermione knew she would be able to find it again once she found a safer vantage point. Gliding through the smoky air, she hovered over the Astronomy Tower for a moment, wondering if there was some way to divert the fire balls from hitting anywhere near the people on the ground.

There was no time.

If she could take out the one casting, she could stop the deadly fire.

Ignoring the screams of Joanna Wood, then Charlie's near miss, resulting in the noble sacrifice of Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione flew closer to the wards, higher than before. If she flew beyond the ward, the scattering of fire that did not penetrate would burn her, but she also had to be careful of those projectiles from hitting her inside the ward.

Lifting the rifle again, she could see him.

Regulus Black.

The rifle's range was long, but not so long as to be able to shoot him. Besides, she thought, she had not killed him before… Only a spell could close the space between them, only one.

Hermione let the rifle drop heavily on her shoulder, nearly toppling her off the broom. With quick hands, placing her wand between her lips, she clutched the broomstick firmly. Then, pulling her wand from between her teeth, using the shadow of the ruins of the Hog's Head as a visual marker, she took a deep breath.

Terminatio.

It was a Magical equivalent to a sniper's bullet, a Magical means of assassination. It was not banned and not classified as 'Unforgivable,' but it was a spell that was rarely used. Hermione had learned about it in the States where it had been used during the last Wizarding Civil War during the 1920s and 1930s.

She silently moved her lips, and exhaled.

Her wand trembled as a lightning like magic streaked from her wand into the darkness of Hogsmeade. The vibration moved through her, jarring every bone and making every nerve ache. The spell would indicate whether the target was terminated or not, this was done by a soothing sensation that would cease the vibration and cool the firing nerves. When Hermione knew she had eliminated the target, she inhaled again.

It was too late, however.

Either the caster of the Fiendfyre knew her position, or there was someone else in the dark mass of Inferi casting, but Hermione's eyes widened as spell fire streaked toward her.

Pain made her bite her tongue as she was suddenly falling, splinters of wood around her falling body. There was no time to move, the pain that wracked her body numbing her mind. Her rifle slipped from her shoulder, but she held tight to her wand. Hermione was hundreds of feet from the ground, and when her eyes caught sight of the floodlights and the people below her, she closed her eyes.

The Fiendfyre had stopped, and there was a calm, finally. No more klaxons, no more roar of fire, and Hermione reveled, for the first time, in the quiet.

"No!"

Hermione did not open her eyes as a voice roared up at her from the ground. She expected an impact that never came.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway next to Harry Potter, his face twisted bestially as magic shot from the end of his wand toward Hermione. Charlie began to move, to tackle Malfoy to the ground, but instead, watched as Hermione's hurtling body slowed to settle gently on the ground.

Malfoy collapsed, but Charlie did not care.

"She's done it," he heard Harry say. "The attack is over."

Charlie ran, breathless to slide over burnt grass to fall to Hermione's side. Her rifle was in pieces on the ground, broom splinters all around her. In the floodlights, Charlie examined her body, bloody fingers feeling her face and neck. She was alive, her heart beating. The hand about her wand was in tact, but the other was in tatters of blood, bone, and flesh. What was more, her right shoulder was dislocated, bleeding black to stain her Muggle military issue clothes.

"Hermione, is she…?" he heard Ron ask.

"Alive, but hurt…" Charlie muttered quickly, remembering his wand, and beginning to scan her body to see if anything was broken. Satisfied, he gathered her up in his arms and rose.

Ron's dirty and disfigured face was drawn tight with concern and anger. Charlie said nothing, moving carefully back to the castle as the rest of the survivors made their way inside. In the doorway, however, Charlie paused to take in the sight of Harry Potter cradling Lucius Malfoy's head on his lap.

"Granger… Safe?" Malfoy rasped.

In the light streaming out of the Entrance Hall, Lucius Malfoy seemed almost translucent under his black robes. There was no colour to the man at all, except the silver in his heavy eyes.

"For now," was all Charlie said before taking off for the Hospital Wing.

Lucius Malfoy had had magical ability, and it had been enough to save Hermione. However, as Charlie pushed through the doors of the Hospital Wing, he was inundated with screams and the stench of burnt human flesh. People were rushing about with clean linens, basins of bloody water, plastic bags of Muggle medicine with tubes. Charlie caught sight of his mother trying her best to magically heal a burn on Katie Flint's leg. He even saw Ginny trying to move non-critical patients to another area of the ward to make room for those who had been injured fighting.

"Get the sterile padding, Patil!"

Justin Finch-Fletchley stepped from behind a screened off area, a white rubber apron smeared with blood. Charlie walked past the screaming behind the screen toward the small niche where he found George, whispering to a semi-conscious Jaime. At the sight of Hermione, George stood quickly.

"She…?"

Charlie laid Hermione on Harry's empty cot. "She'll be fine. I don't think Padma or Justin can help…"

George leaned over Hermione his hand moving to feel her pulse, and then drawing his wand, motioned for Charlie to step back. Charlie frowned at his brother.

"I can heal her," he whispered, his pale face pinching slightly at the sight of Hermione's injured hands.

"Uncle Charlie?" a small voice asked from behind him.

Charlie whirled to find Jaime's blue green eyes blinking sleepily. Moving to little Jaime, Charlie's frown deepened.

"Hey, Jaime…" he said, sitting on the bed to cup the boy's small face between his hands, pulling away slowly, realizing that there was dried blood on his fingers. "How do you feel?"

As far as Charlie knew, Jaime was near comatose, weak, but as he looked at the boy, it seemed he was only sleepy. There was colour in his pudgy cheeks and in his eyes.

"Hungry… Who's that?" the boy asked, pointing to Hermione whose body seemed to glow from George's healing spells.

Charlie smiled tremulously. "You don't know her?"

Jaime's head shook, rolling on his pillow.

"I'm sure you do…that's Hermione Granger."

Jaime's eyes widened, "The one papa talks about?"

Charlie nodded.

A scream drifted into the niche, and Charlie watched as Jaime physically jumped at the sound. With a growl, Charlie drew his wand and cast Silencing Charms about the niche, blocking out the pained screams from the little boy's ears.

"Is she hurt too?" Jaime asked, rolling onto his side to look past Charlie's knees to Hermione's pale face and wild hair.

"A little bit, but Uncle George will fix her right up."

Jaime's eyes moved to Charlie again, his small face growing serious. "Uncle Charlie?"

Charlie took a tremulous breath. To hear Jaime say his name made him feel strange. The adrenaline that had been coursing through him was beginning to wane, and Charlie felt as if he could weep after what he had seen in a matter of minutes.

"Yeah?"

The little boy grasped his bloody fingers tightly.

"Papa said that bad things have been happening, does that mean war?"

Charlie blinked, glancing to George who was working to relocate Hermione's shoulder without causing her pain. She was still unconscious, but as George moved, he could see that her hands had been healed.

"No, Jaime, it does not mean war, not this time…"

The sound of Hermione taking in a deep breath, arching off the bed startled both Jaime and Charlie.

"Sorry, Chuck, I had to wake her…" George muttered apologetically.

Hermione began coughing, her wand clattering to the floor and rolling to Charlie's toe. He bent down and picked it up, gently extracting his finger from Jaime's tiny clutching hand.

"Luv, you feeling alright?" George asked, leaning over her to push her back down to the bed.

Hermione grunted, her hand moving to her left cheek. Charlie moved from Jaime's bed stretching out his hand to pass Hermione her wand, which she took after a blinking moment.

"I got him… The Inferi?"

George looked to Charlie who shook his head slowly. "It stopped the Fiendfyre, but…"

Hermione cursed and George glanced nervously over to Jaime who only smiled sleepily.

"Who do I keep killing over and over?" she muttered, rubbing her cheek and then letting her fingers, now healed moved to her hair.

As she pulled her hand away, Charlie could see that she had a burn on her cheek, pinker than the rest of her skin and traced along her cheekbone.

"I fell…"

"Malfoy caught you," a new voice said in the niche, and Harry Potter entered the bubble of silence.

Hermione sat up slowly and Charlie watched her eyes move from her old friend to the little boy smiling at his father in the next bed.

"What?"

Harry moved to his son, taking the small boy up in his arms. Charlie was not sure if Hermione was asking about Malfoy or Jaime. Harry kissed the boy's forehead as he looked to Hermione.

"He used whatever magic he had left to save you…"

Charlie inhaled sharply, chin rising. Hermione, however, was already getting out of bed, standing on wobbly feet.

Hermione began to move to the screens, but Charlie caught her arm, pulling her back.

"Now is not the time…"

She snarled, snatching her arm away. "For what?"

Charlie said nothing. He was not sure what he had meant by the words, and he could not read into her intention.

"If I can help heal…" she began, her face twisted angrily, and suddenly her face smoothed. Charlie blinked.

Golden brown eyes rolled back, and Charlie caught Hermione in his arms before she fell to the floor.

"Merlin, woman…" he muttered, laying her back down on the bed, pulling her wand from her hand and setting it on the table next to the lamp.

"She's going to need rest, plenty of it," George whispered to Charlie. "And you, big brother, need a wash…"

Charlie wanted to snap at George, whom did not seem to be on the grounds during the attack, and ignorant of what had happened. He did not say a word, however, and bit his ragged lower lip, realizing he had been gnawing on it for some time.

With a sigh, he unlaced her Muggle combat boots and pulled them from her delicate feet. He could feel Harry watching him, but moved with sureness, pulling a blanket over Hermione's body. George was milling about near the screen, trying not to watch as Charlie smoothed Hermione's hair from her face and burnt cheek.

"You love her."

Charlie did not turn at the sound of Harry's voice, and did not nod. Instead, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Jaime's sleepy eyes watching Hermione's unconscious face, weary, but fascinated.

"Of all of us, you two are the strongest," Harry whispered, moving to lay Jaime down on the bed. "You'll need to decide what to do next, Charlie."

There was a grave foreboding tone in Harry's voice, and Charlie turned his eyes away to Hermione again.


	18. 18

18

Hermione awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, unsure of where she was. When she realized she was in the Hospital Wing, Harry and Jaime sleeping peacefully in the next bed, she sighed. Charlie and George were gone, and Hermione could feel the hum of Silencing Charms around the niche. The lamp was out, but grey morning light lit the niche from the small window.

Slipping her legs out from under the blankets and donning her boots, Hermione located her wand and grasped it. Taking only a moment to look at Harry and Jaime, she moved to the screens and pushed through the Charms into screaming and crying from several places in the ward.

Hermione wondered how Jaime came to wake and seem to be on the mend. There was no change in the Seal, and the news that she had not killed Regulus Black haunted and frustrated her. Had the song…no…Hermione shook her head. All that mattered was Jaime was alive.

There was blood in the floor, Hermione saw after taking a few steps into the aisle, it having run from under one of the screened off areas and Hermione stepped over it, trying not to think whose it was or why there was so much. She strode down the aisle to the door, through a crack, and away from the noise.

Early morning still had many people moving around, all shell shocked, all apparently lost. Hermione wove through the crowd, trying to ignore the gaunt, trembling faces and the tears. Standing in the door to the grounds, she lifted her eyes to the overcast sky, cool wind blowing her filthy hair. The smell of fresh death assaulted her nose.

On the grounds, blackened craters and reopened graves marked where the balls of Fiendfyre had struck the hallowed ground of Hogwarts. Beyond and into the vale, there was heavy mist, but Hermione could still see movement of the walking dead.

Nothing had changed.

Hermione ground her teeth together, only succeeding in biting a sore place on the side of her tongue. Stepping out into the air, she shivered, eyes moving about the grounds to see several people burying more dead and recovering opened graves. Near the greenhouses, she spotted Charlie with Dennis Creevey, carrying what looked to be a Muggle body bag toward a fresh grave where Marcus Flint was manually digging.

Her eyes moved to the gates, and the pile of dead. It was there that Minerva McGonagall stood in her tartan dressing gown, arms crossed before her, wand sticking out from the base of the long plait of now blackened silver hair.

"I've spoken to Charlie Weasley this morning," Minerva said, not bothering to greet Hermione or look at her. Hermione came to stand next to her old Head of House, her hands shoved in her pockets, her shoulders raised. "He's informed me of what you both have learned since coming here."

Hermione said nothing, peering out of the corner of her eyes to Minerva McGonagall, seeing that her face was impassive, stony, and serious.

"None of the portraits speak to me anymore, the enchantment sucked away, else I would have consulted Albus as to what to do…" McGonagall said distantly, her Scottish bristle almost absent from her voice. "I honestly do not know how long this can last before we are all killed."

Hermione tried not to inhale too deeply. Even in the dewy morning, the stench of Inferi was strong below them at the gates.

"I keep trying to kill him—Regulus Black, stop the Inferi."

McGonagall hummed oddly, "It is hard to believe that that boy is somehow alive…"

Hermione nodded.

"Boys…" she whispered. "There is a boy in the castle, one that we believe might know more about this situation than he should."

It was then McGonagall regarded Hermione.

"A student?" she whispered.

Hermione shrugged and began telling her Head of House what she believed—the boy, Harry's sudden awakening, the music, and Klemper's words. All the while, McGonagall listened silently, her face only betraying small shocks.

"I know Klemper," was McGonagall's first words after Hermione finished. "He was a few years older than I, and a pioneer in defensive Charms and radical Transfigurations. Granted, he was stigmatized due to his affiliation with Grindelwald…

He said it was a boy? Are you certain?"

Hermione nodded again. "And then the boy singing over Harry…"

Minerva McGonagall frowned. "'Cheek to cheek,' yes, I've been hearing it. I have heard it in the castle and before the portraits lost their enchantment, I was using them to track it…

I never found the source. I concur that it has something to do with those of us who are not losing our ability, but a boy… It would have to be a Muggle-born or Half-blood child who would know a Muggle song."

Hermione blinked, she had not thought so far ahead.

"An old song, at that… I believe Astaire sang it in 'Top Hat' in 1934…"

McGonagall's dark green eyes flashed as the sun began to rise. Hermione thought she saw a flicker of a realization in the older woman's eyes, but it was gone suddenly.

"The boy… Of all those still wearing Hogwarts robes, or are in classes, the list would be short. With the physical description, there would only be possibly thr—"

"Hermione!"

The sound of Ron's voice made Hermione jerk and turn quickly, as did McGonagall. Ron was jogging to them, his disfigured face still streaked with blood and ash. His eyes burned into her face, and she almost expected him to scold her in some fashion.

"You need to come with me…now."

McGonagall seemed to snort and began to walk away. Hermione opened her mouth to call to her old Head of House; McGonagall was about to tell her…

A rough hand grasped her upper arm and was pulling her up the path to the castle. Hermione jerked away, stopping as Ron took a few steps ahead. Ron whirled about, his face twisted into a wince.

"He asked for you, Hermione. It's the least you can do…"

Opening her mouth to protest, Ron's words settled onto her brain.

Lucius.

* * *

He was not in the Hospital Wing, but in Snape's old chambers, lying in bed while Astoria Malfoy sat on the edge of the large four-poster, wiping sweat from his brow. Hermione lingered in the doorway, hearing Ron slip out into the dungeons. In the candlelight by the bed, Malfoy looked like a ghost in his open ruffled shirt, blankets pulled up to his waist, his long silvery hair spilling about his shoulders.

Even dying, Lucius Malfoy was elegantly handsome.

Astoria was still in her fine green bustled gown, and as Lucius' eyes moved to Hermione, the woman turned, folding the flannel she had been using and placing it over the rim of the basin on the bedside table. She rose, the taffeta of her gown whispering as she moved. Astoria glanced to Hermione once, and Hermione was not sure what to make of the woman's expression.

"I did not think you would come."

Astoria moved past Hermione and into the parlour while Hermione stepped into the darkened bedroom. She found herself sitting on the spot Astoria had vacated, regarding Malfoy coolly.

He was sweating as though he had a fever, but his skin was pale, his body seeming to have no substance. When he grasped her hand weakly, she allowed him.

"You owe me."

His voice still had power, more substance than his body.

Hermione's brow quirked and she pursed her lips.

"One might say a life debt since I used the last bit of myself to save your life, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. She _did_ owe the pale man.

"And what do you want from me now? You are in no state to 'couple' with me, old man."

He grinned, but even that motion seemed to weaken him and he began to cough. Hermione glanced to the door, thinking Astoria would return, but she did not. Hermione waited as the lung jerking coughing subsided.

"You smell too much like a Weasley," he muttered, his head falling back on the pillows. "Like poverty."

She started to pull her hand away from his, but he held fast.

"No…that was unfair," he whispered, his keen eyes growing heavy. "Not what I wanted to say to you."

His fingers moved over her rough palm, tenderly stroking her healed hands.

"By eliminating Black and the Inferi, you will give us a chance. It will make it easier to bring down the Seal…"

Lucius' eyes rolled, unconsciousness near, but the silver orbs settled upon her face again.

"The Dark Lord was not totally destroyed that day in May so many years ago…how else can my Mark still burn? Potter…he knows. He must have told you then what he knew and saw."

Hermione licked her lips and nodded. "But I do not know what…" she trailed.

"You will. You will, Hermione. You are far too brilliant to not know what to do. The tenacity of life that you exude is too much for an old man like me…"

Lucius, Hermione assumed, was only in his mid-fifties.

"You appealed to me, to a part of me that finds such a tenacity attractive. That is why I tried to hamper you, just to bask in that power you had to overcome anything…"

Hermione felt something inside her shake loose, and her lips trembled.

"You wanted to destroy me," she whispered.

"Yes," he drawled. "But I never did, did I?"

She said nothing.

"My loveliest toy…my favourite plaything…you have to go to where it began, to Cornwall, to the Dark Lord's cave. That will be part of my payment to your debt," he whispered, his fingers moving to caress the underside of her wrist.

Hermione shuddered at his ghost like touch. "And the other part?"

Malfoy grinned, wolfishly. "Another kiss."

She pulled her hand away, turning to rise from the bed and walk away, but she did not get far as Lucius began chuckling, the laughter turning into a coughing fit. Slipping her wand from her sleeve where she had tucked it on her way down into the dungeons, she Conjured a glass and the filled it with water, passing it to the pale man.

Lucius drank, with Hermione's help and lay back into the pillows again.

"Why so resistant? It is a dying man's wish. It is payment. Or are you afraid you might like it, or Weasley might find you out?"

Hermione pulled the glass away, setting it next to the basin. "I am resistant because you make my skin crawl. I did not like it last time, why would like I like it now when you are a step away from death?"

He grinned again. "I could have asked for something far more lewd, my dear, but as you pointed out, I _am_ a step away from death. I doubt any 'escapade' would be pleasurable to either of us, and I do like pleasure…"

She rolled her eyes, even so close to death Lucius Malfoy was infuriating.

"A kiss to send me on my way to hell, that, and my plea that you save the world, will suffice to erase your debt."

His grin had faded, his sweaty face serious. Hermione sighed, her eyes taking in the sight of the man who been a thorn in her side ever since the end of the War. If he were not such a bastard, she would almost find his manner arousing.

She had to crawl a bit closer to him, her shadow falling over his face. His heavy eyes followed the movement of her hands, one cupping his cheek; the other resting on is bare chest over his heart. Hermione could feel the wild tattoo against his ribs, and she wondered if it were only because he were dying or from her touch.

Kissing Lucius Malfoy was not something she ever wanted to do. So close to expiration, his lips were chapped, his mouth stale. She kissed him soundly, feeling his hands move to grasp her shoulders weakly. He had closed his eyes, but Hermione did not.

With a smacking of lips and tongue, she pulled away, his hands slipping from her shoulders to the bed again. Hermione pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, staring at Malfoy with narrowed eyes. He sighed and slowly opened his eyes.

"Even with the scent of him, and blood, and smoke, you taste like honey, my dear…"

She rubbed her nose and let her eyes move to his pale hand nearest her knee.

"You have seen and heard more than any of us, Hermione. You will need to go soon, and quickly. If our race stands a chance, you must go."

Hermione found herself nodding, her hand falling to touch his.

"That will do it, I think," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes shutting. "Don't die."

* * *

Charlie found her standing in the Entrance Hall, her hand over her mouth, her eyes distant. He was surprised she was up and about, considering how exhausted she was the night before. When he touched her, she blinked, letting her hand fall away from her lips.

Studying her face, he was struck at how clear her eyes were.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was not convincing.

The morning light lit the hall, and in the light Charlie could see how filthy she was and how her back bowed out of what looked to be defeat. There was something different about her, something that had changed since the night before.

He steered her to the stairs leading up into the castle, away from the collective shock and depression that seemed to hang over them in the midst of people moving about the hall. He led her back to the DADA offices, sitting her on the edge of the bed, kneeling before her.

"What is it?"

She shook her head. "The usual things. Death, dying, Malfoy trying to call in the life debt I owe him," she sighed.

Charlie frowned. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

Anger coursed through him, jealousy, and it startled him as he rose to stand over her.

"Nothing important… We simply need to hasten our plans to go to Cornwall."

He licked his chapped lips, unclenching his fists and turning to the cold fireplace. Cornwall, Charlie knew that they would have to go as long as it meant a possibility to end the madness outside the grounds of Hogwarts. The last sanctuary was being worn away bit by bit every time someone died from lack of magic or an Inferi attack.

"I…" he heard Hermione say softly, trailing. "I just want to rest a while."

Turning back to her, he could not be angry with her for any thing. She had risked her life to stop the attack, and he had done nothing to save her. Charlie was angry with himself.

"A bath, food, sleep…" she murmured, toeing out of her boots and placing her wand on the bedside table. "I feel disgusting," she whispered, her hand moving to her lips again, rubbing them roughly.

Charlie could only watch her, saying nothing as she began to undress, bloodstained shirt falling to the floor along with the rest of her clothing. There were bruises where there had been a wound on her shoulder, and Charlie bit his tongue from commenting upon it. Instead, as she rose and moved to the lavatory, his eyes were on her hips, the faint bruised finger marks he had placed there only hours before. Charlie mentally cursed himself.

He too was filthy, sweat, blood, and soot making him feel as if he had rolled in one of the opened graves on the grounds. At the sound of water running, Charlie began to undress, setting his wand next to Hermione's, and letting his reeking jumper and denims slip off his body.

When Hermione saw him, standing in the doorway of the lavatory, she smiled softly, already engulfed in bubbles.

"There room?" he asked shortly, too tried to form a full sentence.

"Surely," she whispered, her eyes lingering on the blood dried on his forearms and the dirt blackening his hands.

Charlie said nothing, his eyes moving to the bubbles as he slipped into the deliciously warm water, Hermione's arms wrapping about his neck to pull him back against her. His hips rested between her thighs and slowly she began washing him. Charlie kept his eyes closed as she scrubbed his hair, cupping water in her hands to rinse the suds from his hair and face. With a flannel, she wiped his chest and arms clean.

Her hands pressed against his shoulders so that he pulled away from her so she could wipe his back and shoulders.

"Rest today, tomorrow night, we go," she said softly. "We go alone, we go quickly."

Charlie's jade green eyes opened slowly to look at the bubbles. "On broom, at maximum speed, Tintagel would only take a few hours at most. And then considering we do not meet with a void of magic…"

Hermione dropped the flannel in the water, wringing it out. Charlie shifted, standing as bubbled trailed down his lean body. Hermione could only blink up at him, and when he knelt in the water again, facing her, he snatched the flannel from her and began wiping gently at the burn on her cheek.

"If this is Voldemort…" he began, but trailed, not sure how to phrase his words. "Harry… If we leave here, and if indeed the boy is here, Harry might be the only one to find him…"

Hermione sighed as Charlie moved to wipe at her bruised shoulder.

"The flayed baby…gods, Charlie, I do not even want to think about it," she whispered, her hands moving to move her wet hair from her face. "I can only think of one possibility, how Voldemort might have a hold on this world again—possession. The boy I saw, Minerva was close to telling me of possibilities when Ron interrupted…"

Charlie frowned. "Shouldn't we stay then?"

Hermione sighed. "No time," she growled between clenched teeth. "The wards…who knows how long they will hold. No, Black comes first. He is the immediate threat. By disabling Black, disabling the Inferi, it might flush the true master out into the open…"

Charlie could see her logic, all the same, Voldemort, or Voldemort's power was in the castle. No one was truly safe.

Once all the blood, soot, and sweat was washed away, Charlie felt somewhat rejuvenated. He lifted Hermione's wet body into his arms when the exited the tub. She did not protest, simply wrapped her damp arms about his neck as he carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed. Still naked, Charlie shivered, taking his wand up and casting a Charm to light the fire. Hermione watched him from the bed as he cast extra wards into the office portion, fortifying the door. Then, with a complicated spell, Charlie blackened out the window so that only firelight lit the room.

Finally, Charlie Charmed the bed linens clean under Hermione, forcing the blankets to pull over her damp body. He climbed into the bed beside her even as her golden eyes began to close. Against her and under the blankets, Charlie felt warm. He placed his wand aside again, gathering Hermione against him. She curled her body over his naturally and yawned.

The shock of battle, of death, was still so fresh, yet Charlie could only think about being safe with Hermione Granger in his arms. Sleep took them both quickly, and Charlie had to trust that his magic and his wards would keep them safe enough to rest to battle another day.

* * *

Sometime in the early evening, they sat by the fire, eating. Instead of eating out of tins, however, they had awoken to find Kreacher at the foot of the bed, waiting to show them what he had brought. It was a hot and hearty meal, set upon a tray, hovering by the bed.

Charlie nearly hexed the elf when he realized that they were not alone in the room, but Kreacher only hissed at him until Hermione sat up, sheet pressed to her breasts.

"Master said Kreacher must bring the Mudblood and her mate good food. Kreacher has done so, now eat."

Hermione only blinked as the elf disappeared with a pop, leaving Charlie with his wand trained on the space Kreacher had stood. Considering how the elf used to behave, Kreacher had mellowed, although he still called Hermione 'Mudblood' against Harry's order.

They did not speak as they rose and dressed in clean clothes, moving the tray to the fire, and sitting on the rug to eat as if they were animals. Hermione was starving, and she ate her thick beef stew not with a spoon, but the fresh baked bread, wiping the contents of her deep bowl with a morsel into her mouth. Hermione wondered if it were made from the flour they had found.

She watched Charlie, amused, as he licked his bowl, smearing broth on his forehead. For the first time in a long time, she laughed, crawling to him to lick the broth from his skin.

Charlie caught her chin and kissed her gently, his hand moving to brush her unruly hair back from her face. Hermione pulled away slightly, staring into Charlie's fire lit eyes.

"We must be mad…" she whispered. "People dying everyday… And besides thinking of how to get us both killed, all I want is to…" she whispered.

He smiled softly. "Fuck?"

Hermione felt a blush on her cheeks and sat back, legs tucked under her. She nodded slowly, her hand moving to her shoulder where her bruise still pained her. Wearing a thin blouse, one that Charlie had found for her in Leeds, Hermione felt too warm so close to the fire.

Charlie sat back against the front of one of the armchairs, one knee bent toward his tee shirt clad chest, the other leg out straight, his large, bare foot near to the side of Hermione's thigh. Hermione studied his face, his now too long blood red hair, his jade green eyes, his handsome smirk, and the tiny burn scars on his face and arms.

"We were interrupted last night," she started, and immediately felt guilty.

They were interrupted because the castle was under attack. People had died, others were terribly wounded, and she… And she was still trying to understand why she was killing Black to no success.

The touch of Charlie's hand on her face, startled her, not noticing that he had moved to kneel before her, gazing down into her eyes. She swallowed, feeling the heat of his body against her breasts, through the blouse.

"This, us, it is not just a reaction to the madness?" he asked softly, still taller than her even on his knees.

Hermione turned her eyes away. "No," she whispered, letting Charlie pet her hair back, stroking the painless burn scar on her cheek. "It's not."

She wanted him and no other. Of all the people left, Harry, Ron, and so many others, it was only Charlie that she wanted near her. It was only Charlie that she wanted to kiss, to touch, and to talk with. Hermione rose up to her knees to kiss him, grasping the shaggy strands of his soft hair. He needed to shave, but Hermione found the rasp of stubble incredibly erotic.

"I only ask…" he breathed between kisses, "…because we are about…"

Hermione's hand slipped between his body and the waistband of his denims, grasping his cock, already hard.

Charlie grunted at her touch and began pulling her blouse up over her head. Her arms raised, the right arm stiffer than the left, and Charlie licked his lips, seeing that she had no brassiere to trap her round breasts.

"…about to either end this nightmare…" he whispered as Hermione's hands undid the front of his denims to rub the tip of his cock into her belly.

"…or die."

Hermione blinked slowly. The back of Charlie's fingers brushed along the slope of her breast to gently squeeze her nipples.

She kissed him again, her hands moving from his cock to slide her hands under his grey tee shirt. Charlie helped her pull the cotton shirt away, letting it fall on the floor over the empty bowls of stew before the fire.

"All I want is you," she whispered, her fingernails scoring the scarred skin over his pectoral muscles, down his ribs to his slim hips. "It just took an apocalypse to bring you to me."

Charlie moaned softly. Hermione smiled softly as Charlie's hands moved to undo the front of her khaki trousers.

They kissed again, this time with much more urgency. Charlie pulled her down to the rug, sliding out of his denims and pulling at her khakis. It was a good amount of limb twisting, but soon they lay on the rug, together, naked in the firelight.

"That is the only good thing that has come of this," he whispered, leaning down to catch a nipple between his lips.

Hermione's body burned, not just from the nearness of the fire, not just from Charlie's touch, but his words.

* * *

Charlie knew that they should be sleeping, but his body moved from a natural instinct that could not be denied. They had moved from the hard floor, not quite making it to the bed before he sank into her again. Her hands grasped the sheets of the bed, trying to push up as he surged into her body, his hips slamming against her buttocks.

He wanted what he could not get the night before, the ecstatic sensation of emptying himself into the witch below him. With her feet scrambling on the floor, her upper body on the bed, Charlie stood firm, his legs, and hips flexing to bury himself deeper into her clutching pussy. It was heavenly, the closest thing to wonderful he had known even before February.

He gasped as Hermione raised her body from the bed, wriggling out of his hands to roll onto the bed, her face flushed, and her mouth open in a panting breath.

He pounced on her, grabbing her wrists and forcing her down onto the bed.

"No games," he heard himself say, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

Hermione's eyes narrowed even as he insinuated himself and his damp cock between her thighs. She whimpered, a beautiful sound to Charlie as his teeth nibbled about her breasts before sucking a puckered nipple into his mouth. He kept her wrists pinned to her sides before releasing his suction on her breasts with a soft pop to plunder her mouth next.

It was as he curled his tongue about hers that he slipped inside her slowly again. Hermione moaned into his mouth. She tasted like stew.

Releasing her wrists, Charlie shifted, kneeling between her thighs, his cock pushing deeper into her body. The firelight made her skin seem golden in his eyes, and he grasped her hips to thrust to the root of his cock, all the way inside her. He wondered how anything could be so warm without combusting.

She whispered his name, and he grinned. He began moving, slow at first, then harder, deeper, rougher. Falling toward her, he did not break his rhythm or motion, catching her mouth again. Their moans echoed in their mouths and Charlie was the first to break away to stretch his back as her body tightened around him, her legs going about his waist again.

"Oh gods…"

Charlie ground his teeth to keep from whimpering, Hermione clamping down around him while he tried to thrust in deeper. He wanted to do wicked things to her, things that were better suited to a time in which they were not so close to the edge of danger. As it was, his mind and body were running out of fuel, and the last hurrah of climax was upon him.

His body pulled taut as the whimper turned into a hoarse roar, his hips jerk involuntarily to fill her body with what felt like streams and streams of ejaculate. Charlie gasped as her hands touched his back, his shoulders, and face. He kissed her, albeit sloppily, and wearily.

The spike of arousal had passed, and when Charlie rolled away, Hermione still clung to him, straddling his hips. He let her kiss his face, her fingers in his hair. He felt as if his body was humming and every touch of her lips closed the circuit between them.

"I…" he started even as his spent cock slipped from her body.

Love you, he almost said. Instead, he closed his eyes when Hermione rolled bonelessly onto the bed next to him. They lay in silence, a silence induced by sheer satiation and exhaustion. It was as Hermione moved that Charlie opened his eyes to watch her use her wand to cast several Charms over her body, a cleansing Charm, and a contraception Charm. Charlie licked his lips and rolled to his side, staring at her back and the bruises.

They had slept the majority of the day, but Charlie felt as if he could sleep a bit longer. He said nothing to Hermione as she rose stiffly, moving to dress, to Vanish their dishes, and sit in the armchair by the fire. Charlie rolled onto his other side, just able to see the side of her face, and one golden eye staring into the fire.

As if a frost had fallen in the room, Charlie shivered. The weight of the world fell upon him, and all the satisfaction, and the high of climax, left him. Just looking at Hermione, he knew that her mind was far away from him and the room. It unnerved him, made him feel oddly jealous. He could not think of anything to say to her to make it all go away.

* * *

Hermione finally undressed again, lying next to Charlie where he had crawled under the covers with his arm thrown over his eyes. By his breathing, she knew he was still awake.

"Charlie?" she whispered, moving to press herself into his side.

He grunted, letting his arm fall over his forehead to the pillow under his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, letting her head rest on his chest.

"For?" he asked in a rough whisper, then clearing his throat.

In the firelight, his eyes looked sleepy, heavy, and Hermione let her fingers find his stubbly jaw. She said nothing for a moment, listening to the way he breathed.

"This… If things were different…" she trailed.

"If things were different, we both would not be so lost in our heads," he finished.

Hermione nodded.

"The fact is, they aren't."

Hermione winced, but tilted her head to kiss the point of his chin. Charlie sighed, his arms moving to wrap about her body, holding her near.

"No real romance, there's no time," he whispered. "No chance to woo you, win you, love you…not now."

She closed her eyes.

"I always took what I could get out of life, luv, and if it is this…all I can have for now, it is better than nothing at all."

She bit her lower lip. It was not fair, for either of them.


	19. 19

**19**

 

 

 

Sleeping, eating, resting, it was done in silence until they began preparing to go the next night. Charlie had slipped away for a few hours to procure brooms, to speak to Marcus Flint about their plans to go to Cornwall. When Charlie returned, he found Hermione dressing in clothes he had never seen before, black dragon hide armour. It was not the only thing different, he noticed, as she sat in a armchair before the fire, slipping her feet into knee high dragon hide boots with straps and buckles. Her hair was cut, as she had grabbed her thick hair and lopped it off with a knife. The result made her curls spring closer to her skull, falling about her cheeks in honey coloured strands.

"There is armour for you as well," she said, noticing him standing just beside the curtained partition. "A gift."

Charlie frowned, moving to the bed where there was a pile of dragon hide clothing. The boots on the floor, and a heavy cloak folded next to the clothes were somehow familiar. As Hermione stood, donning the cloak, he knew where he had seen the costume before.

Death Eater. All that was missing was the mask.

"Malfoy," Charlie growled, stepping away from the clothing on the bed, his eye boring into Hermione's cropped head.

Hermione turned, slipping her wand into a holster on her side, indistinguishable from the armour. "Yes," she answered.

Charlie's ire came upon him suddenly and as Hermione began to move to the lavatory, Charlie caught her by the shoulders, glaring down into her eyes.

"How? Why?" he snarled.

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed. "Astoria brought it with Lucius wish that we 'be outfitted for battle.' I'm not keen on wearing it, but it was a kind gesture…"

Charlie lifted his chin, feeling the long sleeves on Hermione's wiry muscled arms, a softer dragon hide that doubtless came from a Hebridean Black.

"'Kind gesture…?'"

"I owed him, Charlie, and his wish, selflessly, was that we end this nightmare."

Charlie released her and she immediately headed for the lavatory. He listened as the tap on the sink turned on. Moving to follow, he watched her drink water from a glass, gazing at her cropped hair in the mirror.

"Your hair?"

She turned the tap off and set the glass on the back of the sink. "It was in the way."

Charlie felt something in his chest snap, as if she had said something profound. It took a moment to figure out why he felt so lost, so suddenly. It was Hermione's mien. She was rested, focused, and she was seriously preparing for battle. Charlie felt as if he were looking at a stranger.

"The brooms?"

He straightened as she passed him into the bedroom, moving to a pack setting on one of the armchairs, hands digging inside.

"I have two Firebolts at Hagrid's hut," he said in a growl, eyeing the dragon hide on the bed again. "We can leave in an hour or less, if we are ready…"

Hermione paused, closing the flap on the knapsack, her hands poised to lash it shut. Her eyes turned to him, a curl falling into her face.

"I'm ready," she whispered, her hands moving again to adjust the straps of the knapsack.

Charlie forcefully swallowed his anger.

* * *

Harry was sitting on Hagrid's doorstep when Hermione and Charlie came for the brooms. Hermione shivered at the sight of her friend, the floodlights scattering light across the grounds catching Harry's emerald eyes sans his spectacles. Harry stood as they approached, a heavy winter cloak on his shoulders despite it being near the end of June.

Hermione watched as Harry nodded to Charlie, as he moving to the brooms hidden behind a water barrel. Harry came to Hermione, looking down at her shadowed face for a moment before enveloping her in a tight embrace. Hermione sighed, Harry's warmth a balm to her anxious mind.

"I love you," Harry whispered into her ear.

She stiffened, pulling back slightly to peer up at his face. It was then that Harry kissed her. It was not like the many kisses they had shared, as brother and sister, but deeper, longer, and wetter. Hermione was too shocked to speak when Harry pulled his lips away.

He stroked her shorter hair, smiling sadly.

"If 'he' is here, I will find him. I was born for this," Harry whispered.

Hermione blinked, lost for a moment, and then realizing what Harry meant by his words.

"Harry…" she started, but trailed as his fingers move to still her lips.

"The vision I had all those years ago, on the edge of life and death, I should have killed every last bit of his soul. Dumbledore was too kind; he was too full of hope… I will find 'him' and I will stop him, even if it does kill me this time."

She trembled, holding to the front of Harry's jumper. Fear seized her, and she fell into Harry's arms again. They held each other for a long while, Harry's fingers brushing through her hair.

"We will be fine. Don't worry about us," was the last thing Harry said before extracting himself from her arms.

Hermione slumped as Harry moved to shake Charlie's hand. She licked her lips, wondering what Harry was whispering to Charlie. Charlie nodded gravely, pulling the two brooms from behind the barrel, moving to pass one to Hermione. The broom seemed too heavy in her hand, but she took it, waiting for Charlie to mount first.

Harry only watched as Charlie took off first, into the moonless, starless sky. When Hermione followed, slower, Harry smiled at her, and began to take off back to the castle. Charlie was waiting for her, and together, they circled the castle, before slipping through the pulsing wards and to the south.

Outside of the lights of Hogwarts, Hermione could not see much in front of her face except for Charlie. They edged faster over the landscape, rising high into the sky. After about twenty-minutes, the clouds parted, and the waning moon lit their way.

She still hated flying, but racing over the land that had birthed and nurtured her, Hermione could not deny that flying over Scotland and into England was awe inspiring. The waning moon was red and bright, larger than it should be, and slightly foreboding. Pushing faster, Hermione began to figure how long it would take to reach Tintagel at the rate they were flying. Six hours, five? Either way, it would be daylight by the time they reached Cornwall. Of course, if they were to hit a front…it would be longer.

Charlie would glance back occasionally, his jade green eyes catching the moonlight. Hermione would nod to him when they would alter their course slightly to make a straighter line for Cornwall. They did not fly over the sea; Hermione had mentioned the Seal, something that had kept them from doing so much, yet something they did not think of so often. Hermione was not exactly sure where the Seal rested, but knew it was somewhere in the sea. She was not even sure if Ireland was incorporated under the Seal. It was safer not to take too many chances. Flying in a southwestern direction from Hogwarts over land would take longer, but it was a safer bet. Hermione did not know what getting too close to the Seal might mean or do to a witch or wizard.

The Firebolts were rated zero to one hundred fifty miles in ten seconds, and as Hermione followed Charlie in the moonlight, the dark green cloak he wore over his wide shoulder flapping violently behind him, Hermione began to think of Harry.

The madness of Voldemort never seemed to die.

Hermione sighed, her hands growing numb from holding to the broom handle, her ears and face cold where the shield Charm on the broom did not keep the icy wind from freezing her skin. The cold had not gone unnoticed, as it seemed that February cold stretched on throughout the seasons. Hermione considered it was due to the Seal, somehow affecting the very nature of their world. Only years before, Dementors and their influence had caused the coolest and wettest year in recorded Twentieth Century history just before what would have been her Seventh Year.

Gazing ahead and then down, Hermione wondered where they were. Time began to have no meaning as they flew, the moon's hooded red eye shifting slowly across the night sky. However, before them, Hermione saw a strange shimmering on the low clouds, and immediately pulled her broom handle up to brake. Charlie did the same, until they hovered side by side, looking to the southwest.

"A front," Charlie said. "It's coming toward us…"

Hermione said nothing as suddenly they both were spiraling down to the dark landscape below just hovering short of the ground on a hilltop overlooking a dark village and a lake beyond. Hermione set her feet down as the shimmering clouds moved closer, and she could feel a type of static electricity crackling over her skin, and the void of magic sweep through her.

"That's that," Charlie sighed next to her, looking at the distant moon glow through the clouds.

She could barely see him and her hand itched to pull her wand from the holster about her breasts and ribs. Instead, she set her broom on the ground and began to try to look about them, discern where they were.

All the while, Charlie moved, pulling the pack from his back, and opening the flap to dig. Hermione's eyes widened as matches lit and she whirled to see that Charlie had lit a small lamp, without the aid of magic, setting it on a rock jutting out of the hilltop. He sat down on another rock and next pulled a folded book, pages worn, some torn. It was a road atlas of Britain, and Hermione wondered where he had found it.

Shrugging off her backpack and dropping it to the ground, she moved in the light sitting near the lamp, the only source of light for miles and miles. Despite the small flame, she could see that the hill they sat upon was high, rocky, and oddly familiar. It made Hermione think that they might be in the Lake District.

"Northwest of Kendal, maybe," she listened as Charlie mused, his fingers running over the wrinkled page of the book on his knees.

He was still in a thick jumper and denims, only the heavy dark green cloak over his shoulders. Glancing down at her own attire, she frowned.

"The Lake District," he mumbled.

She nodded. "We could walk a while, it would be safe," she suggested.

Charlie glanced up from the road atlas, eyes narrowed, thinking.

"I suppose," was all he said.

Hermione looked to the lamp, wanting to sigh, or say something. Since her mention of Malfoy, the clothing, everything had been strained. It was before that, she realized, it was when they had sex… She could feel then that Charlie was holding back, as if to spare her something. It made her feel awkward, as if she truly did not know the man across from her at all.

She wanted to know him, wanted to be able to talk with him, feel with him… Granted, the weight of their current situation gave them no time for frivolity, but Hermione did not care much for the fact he was upset with her for whatever reason.

Even as they walked down to the village, learning that it was a village called Glenridding, Hermione walked two steps behind Charlie as he carried the lamp to light their way. They carried their brooms across their shoulders and Hermione felt as if she were sulking with every step they took along the road.

The sulking did not last long as in Hartsop, several miles south of Glenridding, the front cleared. Hermione felt as if she could breathe again.

Alighting the air again, Hermione took the lead, pushing her broom faster. She decided not to think about Charlie and their odd relationship for the time being. It only confused her.

* * *

The first rays of dawn came as they flashed over Shropshire, and Charlie felt his chest squeeze remembering his night in Shrewsbury. He only let his eyes take in the landscape for a moment before laying his body flatter above the broom handle to take on speed. He came up beside Hermione whose golden eyes were keen on the land before them. She seemed to know where to go, and he followed.

By Glouscester, she angled southwest, flying along the coast of the Mouth of the Severn, the rising sun on their backs. Charlie followed her as she began to angle to the ground, and as she did, Charlie could feel a perceptible change in the air. It was not the void, but something like it. When his feet hit the ground on a desolate high street, Charlie winced as pain raced through his body. It felt as if something inside of him was being pulled out through his navel and he clutched his middle; stumbling to his knees, broom clattering on the road.

Several steps away, Hermione had mimicked his motion, but was only on one knee. Her cropped hair was in her face as her hand moved to her wand and drew it slowly. Her lips moved, and suddenly has if a pulling hand had been smacked away, whatever was being pulled out of him snapped back into place. Charlie grunted, falling with his hands into the wet pavement.

"What, what was that?" he gasped, his mouth feeling dry, his eyes burning.

Hermione said nothing, rising stiffly and moving to him to help him sit on the road. Her hands brushed along his stubbly jaw to his hair.

"This place," she said calmly. "It feels as if…" she trailed, and did not continue. "C'mon," she mumbled.

Charlie recovered quickly, but every step he took along the empty street felt as if he were slogging through thick bog water. The village was called Boscastle, Charlie learned after passing a few empty shops on the road. Charlie was not familiar with the village.

There were no bodies in sight, and as they came to rest at an abandoned Muggle café, pulling toppled outside chairs up to sit at one of the tables, Charlie pulled out his road atlas from his pack. Katie Flint had given it to him, finding it among the belongings of the dead at Hogwarts. It was useful, and it did not take long for Charlie to find a map of Cornwall.

Boscastle was a little over three miles from the village of Tintagel. He said as much to Hermione, who did not seem to be listening to him, but to the sound of the nearby sea. Her eyes were distant, moving to the lightening sky. Charlie ground his teeth and began digging in his pack again, withdrawing a tin of beans and Charming it hot and open.

"I kept thinking, and I realized something," Hermione said finally, her eyes moving to the heated tin of beans Charlie was eating with a Conjured spoon. "I kept thinking about Tom Riddle and this cave."

Charlie chewed slowly, and offered the tin to Hermione who shook her head, apparently not hungry.

"Tom Riddle, the man who would become Voldemort, he grew up during the War…"

Charlie swallowed, listening as Hermione eyes moved about the desolate road and the corpse free village.

"He was in the orphanage at Lambeth, and during his school days, he returned there. It must have been in '39, perhaps the summer of his First Year that the evacuations started in London… I could not imagine why an orphanage would take a trip so far west unless there was a danger of some sort. Riddle had the security Hogwarts during the majority of the year, but at Lambeth, the Blitz had everyone in constant danger and terror…"

Charlie blinked; he knew so little about Muggle history. He only knew that the Magical world had further pulled away from the Muggle world at that point in time. There were parallels, of course, Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald, and their fall in '45. Charlie had to admit that as a Pure-blood, there was much he would not know simply due to the accident of his birth. It made him wish he had paid more attention in Muggle Studies.

"Perhaps Riddle was brought here, or near here… It would appeal to him."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione finally met Charlie's eyes. "We are only three miles away from Tintagel, and already we could feel the dark power that Kreacher described. It's magnified now, now that there are so few left alive, perhaps when there were millions still living in the southwest, it was not felt so poignantly."

Charlie set the tin on the outdoor table. "What did you do?" he asked softly, suspiciously.

"Warded us from it."

No more was said on the matter, and Charlie was left with unanswered questions. It was not long before they were hovering over the coast, the sun having fully risen, making the sea look black. To the west, Charlie could see Tintagel Head jutting out into the sea. Even with the Seal, the waves crashed into the rocky shore below, as it normally would. There were even gulls flying nearby, cawing into the wind. Charlie wondered why there were still birds when everything else living seemed to be gone or hampered by the Seal.

They flew slowly, eyes scanning the coastline, until they were just over Tintagel Head and the ruins below. The legendary birthplace of King Arthur had been dead for centuries and remained so as they drifted further west and then south.

Rocky cliffs landscaped the ground, and just before a strand of beach, Charlie felt it again.

Whatever 'wards' Hermione had cast were being strained, and he felt a sharp stab of pain in his gut. Charlie drifted lower and lower, until his boots dragged the rocky edge of the cliff, Tintagel Head still visible to his right. Hermione landed next to him, her face pale, her lips pressed tight together.

The path down a cleft to a minuscule beach far below was nothing but treacherous, but they found it, as if being pulled by an invisible string at their navels. Charlie thought the sensation felt something like a Portkey activating, but there was no swirl of colour and light, and his head was not spinning on his shoulders.

Hermione walked ahead of him, her broom over her shoulder, her wand in her right hand. She descended slowly and carefully, occasionally stopping to keep her boots from slipping on the wet rocky path. If Charlie did not know better, the path was almost like an animal track.

The sunlight had not come over the cliffs by the time their boots sank into the damp sand of the small beach, the tide coming in on their legs. The seawater was icy, and it distracted Charlie from the stabbing in his gut, but only for a short while.

The entrance of the cave was filled with water, waist deep, and he heard Hermione wheeze as she lifted her cloak to wrap it about her right shoulder with her broom still on her left. Charlie did the same, stepping off a low natural step into the icy water.

"Harry said that there was a door, one to be opened with blood," Hermione said as she stepped into the dark mouth of the cave, the water higher on her body than on Charlie's.

"The tide is coming in," Charlie murmured, his teeth beginning to chatter as he grasped his broom.

"I know," Hermione said as she slipped further into the cave, and Charlie could no longer see her clearly. "We need to hurry."

Her wand lit and Charlie's eyes were blinded shortly as the wet black rock came into view. He expected to see the 'door' she had mentioned, but the cave seemed to stretch on before her, further back into the coastline.

"Damn," she whispered, her voice echoed and then was lost in the sound of waves.

She had stumbled, nearly splashing down into the icy water, and then, she was rising out of the water. Hermione turned to Charlie, blinking as she let her cloak fall loose again, standing above him and out of the water.

"I suppose this is it," she said as Charlie struggled out of the water, ascending on what felt like man made steps. Arranging himself, his clothes dripping, he set his broom against the wall of the cave, drawing his wand to dry himself and cast a waterproofing Charm on the broom. Hermione did the same even with her wand lit.

"This door, where is it?" Charlie asked, adding his wand light to the tunnel like cave.

Hermione said nothing, lifting her wand a bit higher to see ahead of her. There was no door, no rock face, in fact it seemed that the tunnel widened ahead of them. As they stepped further into the cave, it became clear that there had once been a rock wall, but had been blasted away—from the inside. Charlie could still feel the dull hum of magic on the black stone as he stepped around it on the slick rock floor.

The air changed, grew colder, and ahead, there was light albeit dim.

"There was a lake in a chamber, Harry said, and a boat. The Inferi were in the water and in the centre of the lake was an island… Other than that, I know almost nothing," Hermione said, in a whisper as they stealthily moved into the widening passage.

It was after a few more metres that Hermione 'Nox'd' her wand. Charlie followed suit, realizing that the light from within the chamber was bright enough to see, though everything was cast in an eerie blue and green light. The moisture in the air was almost suffocating, as was the scent of stagnant water and death. However, there was something more to the cave—evil.

Just as Hermione said, there was a still lake in a large chamber with stalactites of black rock hanging precariously from a ceiling high above, but there was also light streaming down from tiny cracks in the rock. The water was glowing faintly, as if there was some unseen light source in its depths.

Moving along a wet wall to stand atop an ancient flowstone, Charlie and Hermione stood above the lake, gazing across the water to the island in the centre. From Charlie's vantage point, it appeared the island was approximately a hundred metres from the edge of the lake, and upon it was a natural stone stalagmite rising up about four feet to level off at the top. The stone basin glowed a sickly yellow green upward, and Charlie assumed it was this basin that was filled with a lethal potion.

"I wish I had the scope," Hermione murmured, crumpling slightly, her back pressed against the rough wall behind her.

Hermione knelt down, and Charlie frowned, feeling very ill very suddenly. He knelt next to her, grasping her shoulders as her head fell down, her chin upon her chest.

"This place… Harry never said anything," she whispered quickly, somewhat angrily.

He was gasping for breath, a proper breath with no humidity and no stagnation. He could still feel a cool breeze from the sea against his side from the tunnel, but it was not enough.

"There's someone on the island," Hermione said finally, lifting her face. "Laying against the dais…"

Charlie's eyes widened and he stood, narrowing his eyes to the island. Biting his lower lip, he tried to distinguish rock from flesh, and then he saw it. A figure was leaning against the stalagmite, limp, and covered in what appeared to be a black cloak. The only bit of flesh that was somewhat visible was a pale hand, whiter than anything in the chamber, and fingers were curled around something round that was obscured by the cloak.

"Accio broom!" Charlie belted out, his voice sounding watery and wrong.

Hermione gasped, standing quickly as Charlie's broom flew out of the darkness of the tunnel and slapped into Charlie's hand. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but already he was off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione begin to slide down the flowstone to a level below.

The island was further than Charlie originally thought as he drifted over the water. There was nothing in the water he could see, no Inferi as the elf had mentioned. Charlie then considered the door, and how it had been blasted outward, toward the sea.

Had the Inferi gone? How was such a thing possible?

He stowed his questions as he leapt from his broom, his boots slamming into the rocky and uneven surface of the island. Letting the broom fall to the ground, he moved, approaching the top of the island in long strides. The air was different on the island, drier, but the scent of old death remained.

The figure that lay against the dais did not move, and Charlie pulled his wand from his chest holster as he neared. The hand that he had seen was like alabaster stone, not alive, but the longer Charlie looked at the cloak-obscured figure, he noticed the impossibly gentle rise and fall of a breathing chest.

Charlie took a step forward, feeling a sense of deja-vu.

Soon, he stood over the figure, eyes moving to the liquid filled basin above on the dais, and back down to the cowl pulled low over what appeared to be a head. Clutched in the alabaster hand, half hidden in the folds of the cloak, was another basin, as large as the one on the dais, but made of silver.

He knew the basin, and as he flicked his wand to blow the cowl back from the head, he knew the figure's face. Although, how the familiar face came to be in Voldemort's Horcrux Cave was as unlikely as the survival of the object in the figure's hand.

Draco Malfoy was holding Prester John's mirror, alive, and relatively unscathed.


	20. 20

**20***

 

 

Malfoy gasped and coughed, much as he had when Charlie roused him in the Department of Mysteries, but other than being unconscious, Charlie could not find anything wrong with the man. There were cuts and bruises, of course, but Malfoy seemed fine other wise.

However, the first thing out of Malfoy's mouth was a shout.

"Get out of here, Weasley! Quickly!"

Charlie knelt before Malfoy, frowning. Malfoy tried to move, but could not raise his right hand where he clutched the mirror.

"Why? Why are you here?" Charlie asked, nearly shouting to keep Malfoy's wide silver eyes from moving so erratically and focus on his face.

"Oh gods, he'll be back for me this time, and with you here…" Malfoy whispered in a rush, his left hand swiping at his damp blond hair.

Charlie glanced back to the shore of the lake, but Hermione was gone. He moved to stand, but Malfoy grasped the front of his jumper, pulling him back down.

"How did you get here?" Malfoy asked, his voice taking on a serious, more controlled tone.

He was not sure how to answer, his eyes still scanning the shore, seeing nothing. Then, there was a sound, rippling water and Charlie adjusted his sights as a small boat appeared out of the dark, knocking against the island. Hermione leapt out, her wand drawn, and eyes wide.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy shuddered at the sight of Hermione, and grew, almost impossibly, paler.

"No, no…" he gasped. "You cannot be here, either of you!"

Charlie grasped Malfoy's wrist, pulling his hand away from the front of his jumper. Hermione knelt next to Malfoy, her golden eyes upon the mirror in his clutching hand.

"It's nice to see you alive, Malfoy, now—why are you here?"

Malfoy licked his chapped lips, seeming to calm at the sound of Hermione's snarky tone, and pulled his right arm up, scraping the mirror on the rock beneath him and into his lap. "This…" he whispered.

Hermione blinked, her eyes moving to his stony hand, and then glanced to Charlie.

"I tried reaching for the source through the mirror. I touched it…I could feel it, but…" Malfoy trailed, his head falling back against the dais, his icy eyes fixed on Hermione. "The Ministry was shaking itself apart, and I couldn't break the Seal, I couldn't reach far enough… I am not sure why I came here, maybe it was the nearest place with life, I don't know, but I fell through the mirror as everything was crumbling… I held to the mirror and came out the other side, my hand freezing about the reflection to pull it with me."

Charlie's mouth opened, to ask how it was possible, but he closed it again when Malfoy began shivering violently.

"Life? What life?" Hermione asked in a hushed tone.

"There were others here before he took them. Muggles, a few wizards…Krum…"

Hermione recoiled and Charlie snarled, grasping Malfoy's shoulders. "Explain, Malfoy!"

Malfoy was in shock, and Charlie could see that despite being relatively unscathed on the outside, on the inside, Malfoy was a wreck.

"Black…" Malfoy groaned, his eyes beginning to shut.

Charlie slapped the younger man across the face and suddenly Malfoy was very awake, glowering at him with a familiar scowl.

"He's been using something, Polyjuice, glamours, I don't know what, to make decoys out of living people. He sends them out in his place, like he does the Inferi. Krum was here, unconscious, he was the last Black used…"

Hermione made a choking sound, and Charlie watched out of the corner of his eye as she stood and stumbled away. The splashing sound of vomit on wet rock was distant, and Charlie wished he could go to her, console her in some way.

"This place…it is his. And he will be back soon, I know it!" Malfoy hissed.

Hermione was out of sight, on the other side of the dais, sobbing softly.

"But if you have a way out…go, all of us!"

Charlie's hands moved away from Malfoy's shoulders, feeling how thin the man was, emaciated, yet still alive.

"Yes…" Charlie whispered, standing.

They had to go.

* * *

Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, trying to control herself from curling up on the wet rock and crying.

She had killed Viktor. It had to have been either on the railway outside of Tyndrum or with the 'Terminatio' two nights before…

She cursed herself, wishing she had convinced Viktor to come with her to London. She should have Stunned him and dragged him along.

"Hermione! Let's go!" Charlie called from the other side of the dais.

Hermione gritted her teeth and stood, her stomach still churning unpleasantly. She began to walk back around the dais as Charlie helped Malfoy to his feet, the mirror dangling from frozen fingers.

They had found some answers, but Hermione knew that they had not learned enough. Black was still about, conducting Inferi to move.

"Take the broom," Hermione said thickly as Charlie and Malfoy headed for the small boat. "You need to get him out first."

Charlie blinked, his jade green eyes shining strangely in the coloured light. Malfoy said nothing, his own eyes upon her. She could feel Malfoy's curious gaze on her clothing and her cropped hair, and compared to the weight of his father's gaze, Hermione found Draco Malfoy harmless.

Moving to the boat as Charlie began to ready the broom, Hermione slipped on the wet rock, nearly toppling in the lake. However, when her hands touched the wet wood, she was suddenly blown back.

Curse fire splintered the boat, and Hermione rolled over the rocky island, wincing as her cloak tangled about her body.

"No!" she heard one of the two men yell.

Hermione was on her side, wand still in her hand as a loud sound seemed to fill the chamber. She could not recognize the sound at first, but when two booted feet slammed into the rock before her face, she knew. It was the fluttering of fabric.

"Shit!" it was Malfoy.

Hermione slowly looked up from the ground, up into a pale, dead face with tangled, long inky hair and flat eyes. Purple tinged lips and dark brows was the only contrast to the white skin.

Regulus Black.

Hermione moved, trying to roll to her feet, Curse the man, blast his head from his shoulders. However, as she managed to make it to her feet, a blow sent her stumbling back along the slope of the island, her wand flying off into the darkness, sliding through the water with a loud 'plop.'

Curse fire flew from behind Black as he towered over her, a Stunner, she thought, striking into Black's back. Black did not fall. All of his attention was set on her, and Hermione ground her teeth, feeling that one of her molars was loose from his vicious strike.

Wandless, Hermione let her fist fly, realizing that she had nowhere to escape to unless it be in the water. Her fist was caught, and a gloved hand wrapped about her throat. It happened so suddenly that Hermione had not a chance to take a breath to hold it before being strangled.

"Bastard!"

Charlie's face came into view as Hermione's feet left the ground. Her eyes bulged, and suddenly Charlie cast a spell even as Hermione felt her body begin to fly.

Regulus Black had the strength of ten or more men, it seemed, and as Hermione's body flew through the dark, she wondered what he was exactly. Managing to take a breath before her head hit the water, Hermione let the literal blackness around her and the blackness inside her; take her far away from the world of death she had come to know. She was death.

* * *

Gwyn ap Nudd began to lead her to the underworld. A fair-haired man drew her down into the darkness of the water. She could only stare at the handsome god, passively. However, the hold on her hands slipped and Hermione was alone.

Sinking deeper into the lake, the blackness was complete. There was no light from above, and though Hermione's lungs burned from lack of oxygen, she did not fight the water.

Hermione was not alone in the depths, she could feel bodies around her, floating for all time, some half rotted, other preserved. If she could see, she wondered who these people had once been and how long they had been waiting in the water. Centuries, perhaps.

Opening her mouth in the stale water, she let the last of her air out of her lungs, but did not drown herself just yet. Instead, she kept her eyes open to the dark, knowing that she would eventually die, not having saved the world as Lucius Malfoy had wished. She supposed Lucius would be pleased that his only son was alive, no matter the man's mental state and shock. Of course, Malfoy would have to survive Black, as would Charlie.

Charlie… Just the thought of him made her wish she could summon the strength to begin kicking her legs to swim up to the surface. She wished that the death and destruction were over so she could get to know him properly. Hermione knew that she already trusted the man with her life, and that she was enamored with him despite the lack of opportunity she had to show it.

The pressure of depth hurt her ears, but Hermione did nothing to relieve it. Gwynn ap Nudd had left her, and she wondered if she was so lost that even a god could not bring her to the underworld and rest. Hermione began to shut her eyes, remorse beginning to fill her suffocated brain.

However.

A flash of light below her made her eyes open wider than before. Hermione moved her hands to reach out as a blue flash made her pupils constrict.

Hands reached for armor-clad shoulders, and Hermione was reminded of stone effigies of medieval kings, clasping their swords against their bodies. The blue glow came from a sword held by gauntlet-clad hands. In this glow, she could see all around her, bodies with ancient faces, older than time itself. Warriors floated, all dressed in strange raiment, eyes closed, long black hair floating languidly in the water.

The figure that held the sword, by Hermione's estimation, was older than she, but still held a youthful mischievousness and deviousness in his heavy brow and thin lips.

Take the sword.

Hermione moved to pull away the gauntleted hands, which came away easily from the blue glowing steel. She grasped the handle, and suddenly, she could breathe.

Enchanted, surely, she thought. Hermione knew little about swords, but as she held it, Hermione knew it was a light sword, it did not drag her deeper into the water. The blade was about three feet long, slightly tapering down to a wickedly sharp tip. The guard was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen, made of silvery metal that glowed faintly white. It reminded Hermione of dragon claws with a silver inlay that rested over the blade itself in twisting tendrils. The blade was smooth; double edged and approximately two and half inches in width. It was a weapon forged in another age, in another place, and wielded by those who had shaped the very world.

Besides the fact she could breathe, her brain beginning to move faster with oxygen, Hermione wondered what sort of sword would glow in the black depth of a cavern lake. Was it malignant? Was it dark magic?

It did matter as she mimicked the original wielder's posture, clasping the blade against her body, the pommel just short of her chin.

Swords had names, but Hermione did not know the name of the one she held. All she knew was that she had a weapon, and she had a life yet to live.

* * *

Malfoy, despite being wandless and weak, tried his best to fight next to Charlie. It was clear that Malfoy was not going to go down without a fight. Charlie could not let his thoughts linger on Hermione as Black turned and began casting rapidly at Charlie.

The wand Black used was unfamiliar, but it was precise in its casting.

"He won't kill us!" Malfoy shouted over the crackle of dispelled magic against Charlie's shield Charm. "He will incapacitate us, use us!"

Bloody unlikely, Charlie growled mentally.

Malfoy tried to distract Black by flashing the mirror in the light of curse fire, and it worked well to make the dead man's aim slightly off. The light from the basin was enough for Malfoy to use, and on more than one occasion, curse fire hit the mirror. Oddly, the curse fire seemed to be absorbed by the silver basin, leaving no mark.

"Blasting Hexes!" Malfoy shouted as he jumped in front of Charlie to lift the mirror as a shield, absorbing a Stunner. "To the head!"

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily, but not at Charlie. Charlie could see that Malfoy was frustrated, wandless, weak, but doing all he could to preserve his life. Charlie nodded, and as Malfoy moved, he cast.

Again and again, Black seemed to knock the hex away.

In the light of curse fire, Charlie could see just how dead Black appeared. Even with heavy cloak and robes, his body was emaciated worse than Malfoy's. There was no life in the eyes that moved between Charlie and Malfoy, unnaturally wide and unnerving.

It was clear that there would be no easy way to kill Black, and Charlie wondered if they would have had a chance if Hermione…

"Dodge!"

Malfoy pushed Charlie who recognized the complicated wand motion Black used next.

The Killing Curse.

Charlie fell one way and Malfoy the other as the green curse fire burnt into the lake water behind them. Charlie was gasping, wondering if Black were too frustrated by their life's tenacity that he decided to kill them. Malfoy was exhausted, still holding Prester John's mirror against him, unable to release it.

Black took a step forward, on the slope, closer to the water. Black did not speak, and that too unnerved Charlie. What was this man?

Charlie rolled to his feet again, wand at the ready, eyes narrowing. The respite of exchanging curses was short, and soon Charlie was casting faster than he thought possible, edging closer to Black. Perhaps if he could get Black into the water…

Malfoy was soon at his side, his face sweaty, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes.

The rapid fire of several spells at once made Charlie growl. Whatever magic Black was using, it would eventually kill him and Malfoy. It frustrated Charlie; he was no match for the walking living/dead.

Malfoy fell as a Stunner slammed into his knees, the mirror catching only part of the hex. Charlie snarled as he threw another Blasting Hex at Black, the magic finally connected, and the man's left shoulder visibly exploded. Black cloth, white flesh, and bluish blood splattered the rocky ground of the island and the pale man stumbled back, his wand hand moving to his wounded shoulder.

Charlie did not hesitate, lifting his wand to send another hex, but Black was faster.

Purplish lips moved, but no sound came.

Avada Kedavra.

Before the green stream of magic totally blinded Charlie, he suddenly saw his own face, distorted, and reflected back.

The next thing Charlie knew, he was on his back, Malfoy half laying on him, and the mirror clanging against his forehead.

"Christ!" he heard Malfoy ground out, rolling off Charlie to lie beside him. "Lucky…lucky…" Malfoy gasped out.

Charlie blinked slowly, feeling that he was still alive. Black, however, was still standing, but not casting. Sitting up slowly, his back hurting from falling so hard into the rocky ground, he did not understand what he was seeing at first.

Malfoy sat up also, staring with Charlie at the long dead Regulus Black, on his knees, a sword edge pressed into his slender, white throat.

* * *

The journey back up allowed Hermione to learn many things.

First, the sword was definitely enchanted. Second, the sword whispered to her in a voice that was so old that Hermione could not begin to comprehend the language—at first. Third, Hermione was told the history of the cave.

It had not always been a place of dark magic and sacrifice. The Horcrux Cave, as she came to know it, was once a tomb of sorts. Entombed were warriors who would eventually awaken for the 'Last Battle.' Hermione was not sure what it meant, but the sword's words implied something like Armageddon or Ragnarok, and not some petty battle between dark wizards and everyone else.

In time, with the turn of ages, humankind found the cave and began using it for different purposes. Dark magic filled the space, took over as blood was spilt to ancient, evil gods. Human sacrifice marred the space with a stale death from before the time of Tintagel and Arthurian legend. It was a marked place that appealed only to those with blackened hearts. The bodies sank into the water multiplied through time, pushing the ancient warriors intended for the 'Last Battle' to the bottom. The souls of those killed lingered, and made the flesh useable for darker intentions.

Regulus Black, over thirty years before, had been an exception.

Like a breath of fresh air, Regulus Black had come to destroy a fragment of an evil soul and break the hold upon the other souls placed in the lake by the one called Voldemort. For his effort, Black was dragged down, down, into the bottom of the lake. Pushed to the bottom, Black died, but his soul was not blackened, knowing that he had accomplished part of his task in disrupting the intentions of the newest threat to Wizarding kind.

Black was one who rose when summoned, and it was Black, whose soul was intact, that Voldemort used to command the Inferi. The soul, though intact, was weak, and could be easily used, and used it was, for another dark purpose. It was because his soul was intact that he could use magic, that he could move as if alive. It was only his soul, clothed in old flesh that was a threat.

Kill the boy, save his soul, for the last time.

* * *

Hermione pressed the blade into the pale throat of the one whose soul needed saving. With one hand tangled into the disgusting black strands of hair, Hermione jerked the head back, teeth barred.

"Drop your wand."

Black complied, the wood clattering on the wet stone.

Charlie and Malfoy were sitting on the island, mouths opened, eyes wide, but neither moved.

"Who is your master?"

Black said nothing and did not move.

"Who is your master?" Hermione asked again, jerking on Black's hair roughly. It was of no use, however, the man felt no pain. She could see that part of his left shoulder was blown away and though bluish black blood oozed, Regulus Black was in no pain.

"Tell me."

Black made a strange noise, and Hermione realized he was speaking. His voice was watery, odd, and distant.

"The Dark Lord."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she stared into Black's crown and forehead.

"The boy…is it a boy?"

"…takes many incarnations, he is eternal…"

Hermione hissed, her hand tightening about the grip of the sword.

"Evil lives forever in any form. Agents of a greater source, the Dark Lord is one of many incarnations…"

"Where is he?" Hermione ground out.

Black did not answer.

Charlie rose slowly and then helped Malfoy to his feet. Malfoy moved before Charlie, snatching up the discarded wand in his free hand, and pointed it at Black's face as Charlie pointed his own ash wand.

"Who is he?"

Again, Black kept silent.

Futile.

Hermione closed her eyes and let her face relax. Enough was enough.

With a motion that caused the two living men to stumble back, Hermione jerked her arm and the blade, no longer glowing blue, slipped into flesh, sinew, and bone. She felt cold blood splash her dragon hide clothing and her face, but she did not open her eyes until she heard a splash and the heavy fall of a body.

She had saved his soul, and cut the puppet's strings.

* * *

Malfoy made a gagging sound as the beheaded body of his cousin fell toward his feet. Charlie tried not to express his distaste as Regulus Black's head rolled into the dark water. The dark blood ran down the slope and into the water as well, and for a moment, Charlie thought the water glowed brighter.

There was no sound, no indication that the Inferi's master had forcefully relinquished his rule.

Charlie studied Hermione, her dripping hair, clothes, and the black blood on her face. She looked like a statue, her face pale, and the sword poised before her, the tip resting on the stone under her feet.

When she opened her eyes, Charlie knew she was very much alive. The golden orbs moved from his face to Malfoy who was shuddering and weak.

"I hope it is finished," she whispered.

Charlie blinked as Hermione began to crumple. He caught her in his arms, the sword falling to the rocky ground in a metallic clatter. Malfoy had also fallen, too weary to stand any longer.

"Hermione?" Charlie asked, her eyes looking up at his face.

She smiled weakly.

"One part done," she whispered. "I think I need a bath…"

Charlie could not help himself and he chuckled. The chuckling turned to whimpering gasps as he kissed her face, never minding the blood. He had thought she had drowned, pulled down much as Regulus Black had been. Though he had been fighting for his life, he had consigned thinking about Hermione later. It was later, and Hermione was alive.

It would be Hermione who would emerge from the deadly waters with some arcane weapon. It would be Hermione who would eventually kill Regulus Black all over again.

Pride surged through him as he let his lips linger on hers.

"Could we please get out of here? I think the lack of sunlight has nearly killed me," Malfoy drawled, breaking Charlie's concentration on Hermione's cold lips.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -From wikipedia: 'The legends of Prester John (also Presbyter John), popular in Europe from the 12th through the 17th centuries, told of a Christian patriarch and king said to rule over a Christian nation lost amidst the Muslims and pagans in the Orient. Written accounts of this kingdom are variegated collections of medieval popular fantasy. Reportedly, a descendant of one of the Three Magi, Prester John was said to be a generous ruler and a virtuous man, presiding over a realm full of riches and strange creatures, in which the Patriarch of Saint Thomas resided. His kingdom contained such marvels as the Gates of Alexander and the Fountain of Youth, and even bordered the Earthly Paradise. Among his treasures was a mirror through which every province could be seen, the fabled original from which derived the "speculum literature" of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, in which the prince's realms were surveyed and his duties laid out.'
> 
> -'Gwyn ap Nudd' in Welsh myth, is the ruler of the Underworld or Annwn, and it is said that he leads the souls of the dead to the 'land of the dead'


	21. 21

**21***

 

 

 

In Bude, they stopped in the late afternoon. Charlie flew with Draco behind him while Hermione flew alone. They kept in close formation, Charlie often glancing over to Hermione to make sure she was well. With the strange sword lashed to her back beneath her pack, Hermione looked like some ancient warrior princess in all black.

At a luxurious hotel on the Bude canal, Hermione was the first inside. There were few bodies, mostly in the car park outside and mostly bone and clothing. Inside was again, corpse free. There was the 'Tennyson Restaurant' in the hotel, and it was in the kitchens that Hermione grasped Malfoy to sit him down next to a metal table, his alabaster like hand on the table with the mirror.

Charlie stood next to a cold stove, arms crossed as Malfoy began frowning, incredulous, as Hermione cast with the wand Malfoy had taken from Black, what appeared to be a simple spell to remove his hand from the silver basin. Charlie could see that Black's wand, whatever it was, did not react well to Hermione's command, but she had tightened her grip and successfully reversed the jinx.

"Thanks," Malfoy grumbled, flexing his fingers stiffly and taking the wand back. His fingernails were blue, but as his moved his fingers, blood flow returned.

"I'll leave mirror in your care, Malfoy," Hermione sighed, hoisting herself up to sit on the table.

Malfoy grumbled again, eyeing the basin disdainfully.

By sunset, they had found food in the pantries, but nothing beyond their usual fare of tinned meats and vegetables. They ate silently in the kitchen.

Nightfall came without the screech of Inferi, and for the first time in a long while, Charlie felt out of sorts without the sound. Malfoy had opted for a large bedroom, leaving Charlie and Hermione to pick one across the hall on the second floor. Hermione seemed to be concerned about Malfoy, making sure that he had plenty of candles, informing him that there would be no hot water as there was no electricity, and short of Charming whatever he needed, Hermione would not be able to help much.

Charlie wondered if Malfoy could still use magic at all, now that he had Black's wand. Then Charlie wondered about the wand itself.

"I will take Malfoy back to Hogwarts."

Charlie had been looking out the window to the canal below, hugging himself while Hermione had been washing up in the lavatory. He had not realized she was done.

Turning, he found Hermione standing in one of her nightgowns, her body smelling fresh, the black blood scrubbed away. The only light in the room came from the candles he had placed on the desk near the door, and in that light Hermione seemed to glow golden.

"You should head for Dinas Emrys, I can meet you there…"

She stood just at his elbow, her eyes moving to look out the window as he had been doing.

"I'm anxious to know if Harry's found anything, if Hogwarts is safe."

He frowned, moving away from the window to the lavatory, undressing and letting his soiled clothing fall to the floor. Hermione followed, leaning into the doorjamb.

"Well?"

Charlie refilled the tub, only keeping his wand to Charm the water hot. He did not answer until he was settled into the tub, rubbing shampoo from a small complimentary bottle into his shaggy hair.

"We should go together."

"The Inferi are…"

"I know, luv, but that does not mean it is safe either," he growled before dipping his head into the water to rinse.

"You know as well as I do that if we do not try to disable the Seal…"

"I know," he snapped, and then blinking, wondered why he was irritated.

Hermione turned away from the door, disappearing into the bedroom. He heard her settle on the bed.

Charlie used a small bar of soap to scrub his skin, the light dim from the obscured candlelight in the bedroom. He scrubbed hard until he felt every last bit of the cave's stench was gone.

He was angry, but he did not know why. Perhaps he was jealous that Hermione had been so kind to Malfoy, almost ignoring him completely. No, he thought, laying back into the tub, he was beyond petty jealousy.

Perhaps he was angry that Hermione had nearly died and he had done nothing to try to save her.

Yes, that was the anger he felt. He was angry with her for nearly dying, placing herself in danger, and he was angry with himself for doing nothing—again.

"Tell me about the sword," Charlie asked, once he emerged from the lavatory, a soft towel wrapped about his waist.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, hugging her legs to her chest, the sword in question lying before her toes. It was wicked looking armament, Charlie thought, dangerous.

"I found it."

Charlie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, near the sword. After Malfoy suggested they leave the cave, Charlie tried to Summon Hermione's wand from the water, but it never came. Being wandless in a dead world was a disadvantage, then again, Hermione was a powerful witch, and he had seen her use wandless magic before…

"It is enchanted, and benign."

"How can you know that?" Charlie asked in a whisper

Hermione shrugged. "It is nothing to worry about, Charlie."

She rose, taking the sword with her and setting it on top the low chest of drawers across the room. He made a mental note to ask again later. Hermione moved back to the bed, but stood before Charlie instead, her hands reaching out to his face.

Hermione was different, and not just because she had cut her hair. There was sadness in the depths of her eyes as if she had learned grave news. She did not speak it, however, and kissed him gently. Pulling away, she moved to sit next to him, her hand on his towel clad thigh.

"Silence…" she started, her cheek resting against his freckled shoulder. "It does not seem possible. I just hope that with this, Hogwarts is safer."

He agreed, shifting his arm to wrap it about her waist so her cheek fell to his breast.

"We are closer, Charlie," she whispered. "And when this all over, I want to go away. Far away where it is warm, and there is people."

He sighed, letting his anger drain, grasping her chin and lifting her face to his. "Lima."

"Lima?"

Charlie grinned, remembering. "There is a Reserve in Peru for the Vipertooth. I was down there about five years ago; helping the keepers set the wards. The Vipertooth is endangered now after the International Confederation tried to wipe them out. It is a great place…

But if you don't like Lima, I will take you to Buenos Aires. There is an Amazonian Reserve for some of the more rare breeds."

Hermione smiled, and Charlie's breath caught. He could not remember her smiling, not in his recent memory.

"Or maybe Bali? No dragons though…"

She laughed softly and stretched to kiss his jaw. He held her closer as her nose rubbed into his half formed beard.

"Lima sounds fine," she whispered.

* * *

A sharp knock on the door startled Hermione as she kissed Charlie's neck, his fingers teasing her clit through her curls. It was early morning, and Hermione had slept dreamlessly, awoken by Charlie's nips on her pulse point and his hard cock rubbing into her thigh.

"Granger?" a muffle voice asked from beyond the door, and Hermione groaned as she rolled away from Charlie, pushing back the blankets.

Her core ached and glancing to Charlie who was frowning at the door as he lay on his side, hand propping up his head, Hermione went to the door. Opening it just a crack Hermione was presented with a cleaner, not so pale Draco Malfoy in what looked to be an oversized pair of Muggle denims and grey tee shirt. Hermione's eyes ran over the thin man, speculatively.

"Found it in some luggage," Malfoy grumbled, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"What is it?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

Malfoy sighed. "Nothing really, I just was too anxious to wait around for you and Weasley to untangle from each other to fill me in on what has been happening."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She assumed it was at last six or seven in the morning. "An hour, Malfoy."

Malfoy shuffled, his nostrils flaring.

"Please?"

He was annoyed and anxious. Hermione could only sympathize so much. Surely, Malfoy did not like being disturbed so early in the morning.

"Fine. I'll see to breakfast then."

She blinked as Malfoy turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. Closing the door, she was slightly surprised at the man. 'See to breakfast,' he had said.

"Let him," Charlie said from the bed and Hermione wondered if her surprise were so evident on her face.

Slipping into bed again, Hermione lay on her back before rolling to Charlie, face to face with the red head as the morning light began to filter in through the windows.

"There's always time," he said.

They kissed a while longer, but the arousal had slipped into a sleepy comfort, and for forty-five minutes, they dozed.

Washed, dressed, and carrying their packs, Hermione and Charlie descended to the kitchen to find that Malfoy had fixed porridge and found tinned juice and fruit. Sitting around the metal table on stools, Hermione and Charlie told Malfoy everything that had happened since they left him in the Ministry. Draco Malfoy listened passively, his eyes settling more on Hermione than on Charlie.

"My father is finally dying then?"

Hermione nodded. "I would like to think that by finding you alive, it would appease his conscious…"

"And get him out of your hair?" Malfoy added with a smirk.

Hermione said nothing, feeling Charlie's eyes upon her shoulder.

"My wife?"

"Very well, from what I could tell."

"But no romantic mourning of my sudden loss…" Malfoy sighed, stabbing at a piece of tinned fruit in his near tasteless porridge. "Just as well."

They trio sat in silence, eating what they could of the breakfast.

"What will you do with the mirror?" Charlie asked, finally breaking the silence.

Malfoy glanced up and then over to the mirror that rested at the far end of the table where it was left after Hermione cancelled the hex that cemented Malfoy's hand to the silver.

"It will be useful. Of all the treasures lost in the Department of Mysteries, I suppose it was the most valuable. It can show one places, take you there if need be, but it also can show things that are hidden."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. It could show who was in the castle, housing the last piece of Voldemort's soul…

"But I would not use it again. I have used it once, I will never use it again…"

"In the Ministry, what did you try to do exactly?" Hermione asked, pushing away her empty bowl on the table.

Malfoy sat to her left, twirling his silverware between his long fingers.

"I tried to destroy one of the markers first. It did not work. Then I tried to reach through to the source of the Seal…"

Charlie's stool scraped the kitchen tile as he leaned his elbows on the tabletop. "You know where it is?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It was kept confidential from those maintaining and building the Seal. Of course, that did not mean that we, as in, Father, Mother, a few others and myself, did not speculate. Mother believed it was in Wales, at a place called Dinas Emrys."

Hermione felt Charlie stiffen at her right.

"How so?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy smirked. "Toujours Pur, Granger. The Black family has always had a unique interest in protective magic, wards, and fortifications. Most Pureblood families have, at one time, specialized in some brand of magic. The Malfoys were adept with torture…modes, methods, and means, as well as circumventing the effects of torture. The Bulstrodes specialized in strengthening magicks and earth magic—half the family has hag blood running through their veins. The Parkinsons specialized in illusionary magic, glamours, and mental magick, but now that power is almost gone…bred out.

There were others. The Potter family supposedly, once upon a time, was masters of enchanting artefacts, descended from the Peverells… You get my meaning?"

Hermione nodded, eyes narrowing.

"And your mother?" Charlie asked.

Malfoy's silver eyes moved to Charlie. "She believed that the power needed to maintain the Seal came from one of three 'seats' of magical power in Britain. Hogwarts was built on one such place, Glastonbury Abbey, the Tor, on another. The third was in Wales, at a place called Dinas Emrys, the site of Vortigern's castle and before that, the lair of the great Red Dragon of the Britons, a being that had many names. Y Ddraig Goch, being one, Elfydd, another… It all has to deal with ancient names, and disregarding colours. Albion, the ancient name of Britain, meant 'white,' while the Welsh 'elfydd' meant 'world.' All the same, it is this dragon, and Dinas Emrys that seats a great magical power, and that was where my Mother believed the source of the Seal lied."

Hermione cocked her head, regarding Malfoy curiously. "You tried to reach out to this 'Red Dragon?'"

Malfoy sighed. "With no effect. The result was the Ministry falling down around me, and me escaping through the mirror to the first place that came to mind—Regulus Black and his cave."

Silence fell again, and slowly Hermione turned to Charlie who was staring at the metal tabletop, contemplative. "I have to take him back," Hermione whispered.

Charlie's green eyes swiveled to her face and he scowled. "It is no time to be divided, Hermione."

Hermione knew Malfoy was watching them, curious, but Hermione pressed on.

"The sooner we get there, the better. It would only be a few hours, Charlie. I can be back in no time…"

"And the front?"

She exhales loudly, not quite a sigh, but a frustrate motion. "With Black gone, there might not be any more 'fronts.'"

"You don't know that."

"Malfoy cannot go with us, and we cannot leave him unprotected, Charlie."

"Protect him from what? If the Inferi are gone…"

Hermione's jaw clenched. "He needs to be with his family, Charlie. Lucius is dying, and his wife would want to know he is alive…"

Malfoy cleared his throat, interrupting the whispered argument. "If I might add something to your lover's spat, I will have to agree with Granger, Weasley. Getting me back to Hogwarts as soon as possible is imperative."

Charlie's eyes narrowed and he grimaced. "And why is that?"

Malfoy lifted his chin slightly, peering down his long nose at Charlie. "Potter is going to need all the help he can get."

Hermione's eye moved to Draco's left forearm, and just visible was the dark outline of the Mark.

"With my Father weakened, the remaining Death Eater families are not simply going to rally around Potter if the Dark Lord is somehow moving among them. My Father could band the others together to act. That being said, he was no leader, but he was respected. Father placed family above all else, and the others respected that, they look to him…as they did me before I was sent off to the Ministry."

"Your point, Malfoy?" Charlie snarled.

Malfoy sniffed disdainfully, his arms crossing before his chest. "Those of us with the Mark can sense the Dark Lord, much like Potter could with his scar… And as far as I know, his scar as been dead for over twelve years."

The idea seemed far-fetched, but Hermione saw Malfoy's logic.

"I want to go back," Malfoy finished, resolutely.

Hermione glanced to Charlie again, and though his face betrayed his irritation, he shrugged in defeat.

* * *

Malfoy seemed much stronger, Charlie thought, as he rode behind Hermione, his arms wrapped about her thin waist, his silvery hair bright in the sunlight over Gloucester. In a Transfigured bag, Malfoy carried Prester John's mirror on his back, making him appear to be a pale version of a turtle.

The pain Charlie had felt in Cornwall had disappeared with Hermione's beheading of Black. It felt as if the dark pressure had suddenly been released. Charlie wondered what it meant to the remaining piece of Voldemort's soul…

An hour before, just at noon, they had left Bude, Charlie finally dressing in the dragon hide armour, a vision of black and red on his broom stick. Hermione was similarly dressed; her cropped chestnut hair almost golden in the sun. Charlie scowled at the way Malfoy clung to her, his chest pressed into her back, his chin resting on the top of her knapsack. The sword had been strapped to her waist; in a Transfigured plain scabbard Charlie had made resting on her left hip.

The plan was that Charlie head for Dinas Emrys, which he remembered should be at the south end of Llyn Dinas along the Gaslyn river valley. He was to wait at the base of Dinas Emrys until Hermione returned in the night from Hogwarts. If she did not come, he was to find the source of the Seal, and attempt to disable it.

"A Patronus if there is danger on your end," Hermione had said before kissing him and mounting the other broom with Malfoy smirking all the while.

Charlie frowned into the wind as they moved north. There would be no way for him to know if Hermione would need assistance on her end. With one last look to Hermione, who met his eyes, he broke away west.

Her lips moved silently as he moved, and Charlie thought she said 'love you.'

* * *

"This broom is rated for one hundred fifty, Granger, push it!" Malfoy shouted over the wind at her back.

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying something foul and leaned forward, the broom accelerating. Malfoy held tighter, nearly crushing her ribs. Ahead of her, the sky was clear, so clear that Hermione wondered if the lack of Muggle pollution would somehow cleanse the nation. There were large fluffy clouds in the sky, beautiful, and telling. There was no front over the Lake District.

With two on a broom, it was slower going, and Hermione knew that they would reach Hogwarts at about nightfall if there were no impediments in their way.

By late afternoon, they had crossed into Scotland, and Hermione was beginning to feel 'saddle sore' from the weak cushioning Charm on the broom meant for one rider. It was part of the reason Hermione disliked flying.

She let her eyes fall to the landscape below where the Lowlands were slowly becoming Highlands, having her to rise higher into the air to clear the mountains. Malfoy seemed to also be looking below them as the land flew by, and then forward. There were darker clouds to the north, and Hermione caught the scent of rain on the wind.

"What's that?" she heard Malfoy shout, an arm pulling from her waist to point to the northeast, toward Loch Etive.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and on the distant rain, she saw what looked to be lightning. Yanking up on the broom and braking sharply, she felt Malfoy's chin bump against her shoulder. Around them wind whipped, as if they had not stopped flying even as they hovered over a small village far below.

The air was too cold for lightning, Hermione thought, but then again, she was no meteorological expert. The flashes were quick and bright, and Hermione considered it was a front…

No, there was no staleness in the wind, no lack of scent. It felt wrong.

"Battle," Malfoy growled, his arm wrapping about her waist again. "What are you waiting for, Granger?" he barked.

Dread filled her, and suddenly, startling Malfoy to cling tighter, Hermione took off again, faster than ever before.

* * *

Charlie walked along the shore of Llyn Dinas, the pebbles under his boots sliding and making a sharp noise. He carried his broom over his shoulder, jade green eyes looking up at Dinas Emrys, a hillock above the lake. The trees were blooming far too late, and Charlie sighed, knowing that if the Seal were not released by winter, no one would have to worry about dying from lack of magical ability, but from the cold.

He had flown over the Reserve, over the Lodge, and the only thing that lifted his spirits was seeing hatchlings running along with a female Welsh Green not far from where he learned the Seal had been enacted. It seemed that the enchantment of the Reserve had protected the dragons. He had counted three new Hebridean Black hatchlings in the north of the Reserve, and saw that the oldest Ridgeback had finally shed its skin for the last time in the far west.

Whatever was slowly killing witches and wizards, seemed to leave the dragons alone.

The sun was beginning to set as Charlie found a footpath leading up the western side of Dinas Emrys. There were Muggle signs telling him that the ancient hill fort was fragile and to take care to keep on the path, but Charlie ignored the signs. Muggles were no more, and possibly never would be again in Britain.

Charlie's boots left the path along the rocky slope moving toward the east. He was too deep in thought to think about where his feet were taking him.

Genocide. The death of millions of Muggles was genocide. Had it been Voldemort's last effort to purge the world?

The sun was warm on his back as he stopped upon a more level portion of the slope, the true base of Dinas Emrys, and shrugged off his pack. In a small copse of trees and rocks, Charlie sat down, listening to the wind coming from the east and over the lake. There was a perceptible tingle of magic in the air, but old and almost faded. Charlie could not feel that Dinas Emrys was some 'seat of magical power.' Then again, Charlie had learned long ago never to be too quick to judge, it might just cost one's life. It was a Dragon Keeper's principle, and he grinned to himself. He supposed he was the last such person in Britain.

He mused as to what would happen if the Seal were removed. Would it save those who were losing or lost their magical ability? What about the Muggles? Would Britain suddenly be 'up for grabs' for the world at large?

Charlie ceased the line of thought as the sun began to set. Hermione would be back in a few hours. Until then, Charlie was not sure what to do. He extracted a bottle of water from his pack and drank, the light around him failing. He ate a bit, listened to the wind through the trees, and watched the sun set totally.

In the near dark, he began walking again, finding an old animal track around the eastern slope, gently climbing the hill. Hermione would find him, surely. Charlie knew he was circling the hill, but did not mind as his feet found an even more rugged path in the west, running below an old and fragile stonewall. He figured he was perhaps a third of the way up the hill when he had to light his wand to see the track under his dragon hide boots.

Time seemed lost to him, and Charlie stopped to lower his wand and look up to the starry sky overhead. The moon had begun to rise, a mere sliver of rock in the sky, too near to the new moon.

Walking again with wand light on the ground, Charlie stumbled several times, before coming to a wider path lay with grass. Stepping surely along a slope leading higher on the hill, Charlie recoiled as a sound met his ears. Slowly, he dropped his broom on the ground.

The peal of bells.

Along the path, Charlie's wand light caught the white of bare rock, lining the sides leading up to a bare rock face, natural and luminous.

Another step and another trickling peal of bells, sounding as if far away…

"Impossible," Charlie muttered softly, as he took another cautious step, his own voice lost in the delicate peal of more bells.

The tale had been wrong.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From wikipedia: Dinas Emrys - (Welsh for "fortress of Ambrosius") is a rocky and wooded hillock near Beddgelert in North Wales. Rising some 76m above the floor of the Glaslyn river valley, it overlooks the southern end of Llyn Dinas. Arthurian connection - When the High-King Vortigern fled into Wales to escape the Anglo-Saxon invaders, he chose this lofty hill fort as the site for his royal retreat. Every day his men would work hard erecting the first of several proposed towers for the palace; but the next morning they would return to find the masonry collapsed in a heap. This continued for many weeks until Vortigern was advised to seek the help of a young orphan boy born of the fairies. The King sent his soldiers out across the land to find such a lad. They were eventually successful at the city, which became known as Caer Myrddin (Carmarthen). The boy was called Myrddin Emrys, better known as Merlin today. Vortigern, following the advice of his councilors, was planning to kill the boy in order to appease supernatural powers that prevented him from building a fortress here. Merlin laughed at this advice, and instead explained that the hill fort could not stand due to a hidden pool containing two vermes, a word that can be translated as either "badgers" or "dragons." He explained how the White Dragon of the Saxons though winning the battle at present, would soon be defeated by the British Red Dragon. After Vortigern's downfall, the fort was given to High-King Ambrosius Aurelianus alias Emrys Wledig (the Imperator), hence its name.


	22. 22

**22***

 

 

 

"Charlie!"

Hermione's voice rang out through the darkness, and Charlie's sense of time returned. However, his sense of reality did not. And the path before him was still marked with faint white rocks, leading up to a bare rock face, and Charlie knew where the path led.

Hours had literally passed without his notice.

"Charlie!"

Her voice was weaker, and as he turned back, he could see her eyes in the wand light, wide and golden. She was walking slowly, her cloak in tatters about her body, the strange sword dragging the rocky ground from her right hand. The metal and rock clanged dully together along with the sound of her dragging boots.

Something was wrong, and Charlie moved, running along the path toward her.

"Oh gods," she whispered as he came upon her, and then she was on the ground, falling gently in Charlie's hands, his wand falling to the ground next to her.

Her sword rolled from her hand and into the darkness, but in the starlight, he could see her face, pale and drawn. Her eyes were wide, staring up at him.

"Have you seen him?" she asked so softly that Charlie had to lean down to hear.

"Who?" he asked, his left hand searching for his wand.

"Have you…"

She began coughing, and in the starlight, her lips were blackened.

Charlie found his wand, but before he lit it, his hands ran along her face, his body bending over her. Hermione's mouth moved but only a gurgling came out, and then he smelled it. Blood.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

All around her, the ground was black, and slowly her eyes closed.

Charlie lit his wand, and down the front of his black armour he found fresh blood smeared into his borrowed costume. She was still breathing, her dragon hide clad breasts rising and falling far too slowly.

"Go…" she whispered, her mouth full of blood. "Go, Charlie, he's coming…"

A sound of footfalls startled Charlie to stand, wand out to light the track he had followed.

He's coming…she had said, and Charlie felt fear crush inside his chest.

"Go!" she wailed, rolling onto her side, more blood trickling from her mouth and from her nose.

A dark shadow came into sight, and Charlie clenched his teeth.

Charlie had faced dragons, he had fought Death Eaters and all manners of dangerous beasts, but nothing inspired so much fear as the shadow on the path. There was no time to help Hermione, a rational part of his mind told him. Fight or flight?

Hermione's wail echoed in his head, and he did the one thing he knew he would regret. He ran.

* * *

The peal of bells followed every pounding step, and as Charlie ran, he extinguished his wand's light, finding he did not need it. Each stride brought him closer to the rock face above, the white stones on either side of the path glowing brighter as he ran. When he came near to the rock face, more light lit his way as the opening to Merlin's cave came into view. It was like the parting of a heavy white velvet curtain and inside, there was a dull white light.

He could feel the shadow behind him, the 'him' Hermione had mentioned, but Charlie did not look back. The fear drove every thought from his head other than to run.

His boots slapped against smooth stone as he skidded into the cave, not trying to imagine how it was possible that the cave existed or how it seemed to open just for him. Charlie clutched his wand, moving along a low tunnel, much like the cave near Tintagel, much like the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow. It was different, however, in the sense that it was not wet, and there was nothing causing his insides to squirm with pain.

The dull white light came from within a larger chamber and as Charlie had to force his legs to stop moving before falling into a pit of water, he let his logical mind begin working again. Somehow, he felt safe.

The pit of water was smaller than the lake in the Horcrux cave, but there was something in the depths, causing the glow that had lured him inside. Charlie's eyes took in the chamber, finding it to be made of pale grey limestone with fantastic natural formations, all glittering with white and bluish calcite. High above was a what appeared to be a natural opening, letting starlight and muted moonlight stream down to light a rounded peninsula toward the back of the pit of water. Charlie considered the water below his feet to be a pit rather than a pond or lake due to its depths and the shape. It was much like the pit described in the Mabinogion.

However, the thing that sat on the peninsula was nothing like Charlie would have imagined. There was a throne upon the highest point of the rock, glowing gold and large enough to seat more than just a king. It was Merlin's golden chair, as legend had mentioned, and to the left of the throne upon a truncated stalagmite, was a golden drinking horn. In the horn, Charlie saw, was a rolled up bit of parchment, out of place from the antiquity of the cave.

It was what was sitting on the chair that held Charlie's attention from that point on.

Made of stone and covered in the same white calcite, as the flowstones and the other speleothems was a figure of a man. Charlie blinked, thinking that it had to be an ancient statue of a male figure, sitting on the golden throne, left temple resting on the left fist, elbow on the arm of the throne. Time and natural mineral deposits had obscured the features of the body and face, tiny stalactites dangled from the sharp chin and between the spaces where the right hand rested on the knee.

Lifting his chin to move his eyes to the glowing, watery pit, he knew that he could not simply swim across, the water was too deep, and he was suspicious of what was causing the glow from below. He could not Apparate, Portkey, and the broom was outside…

Charlie's boot slipped into the water, and he fell back instinctively, fear getting the better of him. The disturbance in the water echoed through the cavern, changing the light, reflecting ripples onto the walls.

Movement in the water had Charlie scrambling back further. Rising slowly, the source of the glow surfaced and Charlie blinked rapidly at what he was seeing.

The smooth underbelly with iridescent white scales of a dragon made the light brighter in the cavern, the calcite shimmering like diamonds on the speleothems.

"Merlin…" he whispered.

It was a bridge of three feet square segments of scales and as Charlie stood, moving to the first 'stepping stone' he saw the head of the white dragon under the water, eyes closed. It looked very much like a Ridgeback by the horns on its head and the shape of its snout, but by its whiskers and the shape of the eyes, it was like a Fireball. It was not any breed of dragon Charlie ever knew, but somehow, he did know, it was the legendary White Dragon of the Saxons, slumbering forever.

And the Red Dragon? Charlie licked his lips as he let his boot fall upon the scales, feeling the skin give slightly. It was akin to walking on boggy peat.

The distance between the edge of the pit and the peninsula was at least fifty metres, and Charlie figured that the dragon under the water whose belly was exposed to the air, had to be three times the length. When he leapt to the stone of the peninsula, the scaly underbelly sank down into the water again, taking the light with it.

Charlie glanced back to the tunnel, half expecting to see the shadow, but there was nothing. A twinge of discomfort surged through his body, knowing that if he did not hurry, Hermione would…

He shook his head violently, striding toward the golden throne, and ignoring it as he moved behind it to the horn on the stalactite. Of all the impossible things—Hermione, the strange sword, Malfoy being alive, the cave he stood inside—he had to push it all aside in his mind. Charlie did not allow his eyes to linger long on the statue on the throne, and snatched the roll of parchment from the horn, curling his thumb about his wand to unwind and read.

The ink was fashioned in a familiar hand, and it was not until Charlie skipped to the signature at the bottom that he knew who had written the missive.

'Dear Soul, you are standing in the most sacred location in all of Britain…'

Charlie frowned, feeling nothing but his own anxiety and fear.

'This parchment was placed here after great pains to penetrate the cavern and the resting place of the great Red Dragon, Y Ddraig Goch. I, myself, could never set foot in the cavern, and had to use an ancient relic to leave this message to you, as I was never the one to complete the task you, dear soul, are here to complete. You have come to break the Seal.

I do not want to imagine the circumstances as to how you came to be here. The fail-safes have obviously…failed, and the Seal is most likely destroying all magic in our world. This place, and the time in which you are reading this message, is the last chance to save our world.

I hope this missive is never read, and that my fears are never realized. I hope that by doing what must be done will not obliterate magic all together…

The Seal is powered by many sources, but this place, this power, it the main 'generator' of the Seal. To break the Seal, you, dear soul, must awaken Y Ddraig Goch. By doing this, you reset every enchantment used to construct the Seal, and I pray, you save our world.'

Charlie stopped reading for a moment, seeing that there were only a few lines left on the scroll. Where was Y Ddraig Goch, and how was he to wake the dragon?

'There are many that will not want the Seal to be broken. There are those who will try to profit from the flux of magical energy, try to rein it for their own uses. This must not be. Break the Seal…

Charles Gideon Prewett Weasley.'

The parchment fell from his fingers and he knocked into the unmovable throne, the parchment rolling up again and resting against the toe of his boot. He had not seen his name when he read 'Regards, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.'

Charlie's hands shook though he kept a tight hold of his ash wand.

Had it always been so? It made sense, oddly, that he would be the one to 'awaken' a dragon. Had he lived and kept his ability for some predestined moment?

He would not believe it.

Bending down to grasp the parchment again, he unrolled it, rereading the message. His full name  _was_  on the parchment, as was Dumbledore's… Then, as if oozing out of the parchment, there was a postscript in tiny letters.

'The Red Dragon sits asleep upon the golden throne, just as the great Merlin left him. Y Ddraig Goch in human form is the last of an ancient race, born in a time when this world sprang from a previous age. Be ware, Charles Gideon Prewett Weasley, Y Ddraig Goch is far more powerful than anything this current version of the world has known. —A.P.W.B.D.'

Charlie hissed as the parchment burst into flames between his fingers and he dropped the ashes to the ground. Still, he did not know more than before, and in the tunnel, the shadow was finally approaching.

* * *

Malfoy's arms threatened to crack her ribs as they descended toward Hogwarts. She could hear him yelling something, something that sounded like 'slow down!' Hermione felt a small satisfaction, rankling Malfoy. However, her attention was drawn to the gates, the last bit of grey daylight allowing her to see that there were people, not Inferi moving in the vale.

Triumph washed through her, but it was short lived as just before the front doors, curse fire flashed and disappeared into the castle. The light they had noticed before coming upon Loch Etive was lightning, but not like any Hermione knew as it traced the clouds over the Forbidden Forest.

Landing, Malfoy grunted, jumping off the broom to run toward the front door. Hermione sniffed, abandoning the broom to follow. The scent fire came below in the vale, and she supposed that the other survivors were burning the bodies of the Inferi. However, Hermione was more concerned by the flashing from the windows of the Great Hall and the crowd of people in the Entrance Hall.

"Hermione!"

Ron caught up with her as she pushed through a gaggle of older witches, sisters by the look of them. Ron caught Hermione's hand, pulling her between the people and around to the middle of the Hall.

There were bodies on the floor, and Hermione recognized that there were at least twenty, all faces frozen in shock. Among the fallen bodies were several Hermione knew, Oliver Wood and his older son, Roger Davies, and, half buried under two other people, Susan Bones.

The only sound came from beyond the closed doors of the Great Hall, the crackle of spell fire and crashing wood.

"Move! Get the injured to the Hospital Wing! Someone move the bodies!" a voice called via a 'Sonorus' from the top of the stairs, and Hermione's attention was pulled to Minerva McGonagall, standing over the Entrance Hall like a sentinel.

At the snap of her bristle, people began moving, and Hermione realized that people were screaming, crying, some of the wounded moaning. Ron continued to pull her to the ancient oak doors, his hand like a vise about hers.

"War is upon us! Move!"

Hermione shivered at the sound of McGonagall's voice, but turned her attention to the group of people at the doors, small flashes of spell casting making her eyes narrow.

Dennis Creevey and Marcus Flint were using whatever spells they could to blast open the doors. George stood nearby, drawing out small pellets from a box. Hermione realized they were miniature explosives. Coming to stand next to Katie Flint, Hermione saw that almost all of those who had went out to forage were standing about the doors, even Theo Nott whose arm was wrapped and hanging in a sling.

"Hermione…" Katie gasped, and suddenly Hermione was embraced, feeling Katie's trembling body against hers. "Thank Merlin you are here!"

Before Hermione could ask to know what was happening, Ron answered.

"Harry and…Voldemort are inside. McGonagall found V-Voldemort…" Ron stumbled over his words, his face quivering.

"It was Teddy."

Hermione blinked, eyes moving to a new figure, Astoria Malfoy with Draco next to her.

"It has been Teddy all along," Astoria continued, glancing to her husband whose face was grave as his eyes moved from Hermione to the door.

Realization coursed through Hermione, painfully. She had been so stupid.

The miniature explosives had no effect and Theo Nott stepped forward, trying different spells on the door. It was clear that the doors were locked by a strong enchantment.

"No one knew…except Slughorn," Astoria said as Hermione felt her knees grow week and she fell against Ron who caught her and held her tightly. "Slughorn was the first to confront Teddy, see that Teddy had been possessed, had been since the day the boy left for Hogwarts…"

Hermione felt a sob pass her lips and her eyes water. Astoria let go of her husband's hand to wipe away her own tears marring the perfection of her beautiful face.

"Slughorn was wounded, but McGonagall and Potter pursued…many have been killed…"

Hermione closed her eyes as the sobbing increased, and Ron held her tighter.

Teddy… How could it be? Teddy had suffered so much in his short life, an orphan, with no family left that was close. It was unfair, wrong…

As if something clicked into place, Hermione straightened, but allowed Ron to keep a firm hold on her. Ron smelled less like grass and spun sugar and more like dank soil and blood.

Slughorn's words came back to her regarding Teddy, and Hermione blinked away her tears, her vision distant. Slughorn had been awarded partial custody, taken Teddy from the Ministry just before everything started. But how could a twelve-year-old boy cast an Imperius, let alone in the middle of the Ministry of Magic? How could sixty-seven people be affected?

A ground shaking crash from inside the Great Hall distracted her, and her mind returned to the present moment. Nott stumbled back, his face sweaty, his uninjured hand trembling about his wand.

"No good. Whatever enchantment was used will not respond to any type of magic," Theo gasped as Marcus moved to sit the man on the floor before he fainted.

"Couldn't we fly around and get through a window?" Katie suggested.

"No, after the Battle of Hogwarts, the glass has been Charmed unbreakable and impervious to any sort of impact or Vanishing," Ron muttered against Hermione.

Hermione's eyes trained on Malfoy who frowned, and as if reading her thoughts, shook his head.

"No way, Granger," he hissed, and most of the attention fell upon him. As if noticing for the first time, Hermione felt Ron stiffen and saw Katie blink rapidly at Malfoy. "You saw what happened when I went through the mirror. It may not just freeze your hand to the side, it might kill you!"

Only Hermione knew what Malfoy was talking about, biting her lips as Malfoy shifted the pack with the mirror on his back.

"If you cannot think of another way to get inside and help Harry, we will have—" Hermione began, but Malfoy stepped forward, causing Ron's embrace to tighten protectively.

"Use that sword of yours, Granger. It is enchanted, is it not?" Malfoy drawled, eyes moving to the hilt resting against her hip.

Hermione blinked, and slipped from Ron's arms. "If this doesn't work…"

Malfoy sighed, moving back to his wife. "I'll consider using it," he muttered darkly.

Drawing the sword from the Transfigured scabbard had Hermione a feeling as if she had stepped back in time. The sword seemed to pulse in her hands, and again, she wondered what it was exactly—sentient and benign, she hoped. At the sight of it, everyone around her backed away cautiously, and Hermione wondered if the sword, whose name she did not know, did look so threatening.

She took several steps to the door; the others backed away, eyes wide in disbelief. Hermione pushed aside the heavy weight of their curiosity and stood just before the doors.

With a grunt, she lifted the sword so the tip was pointed at the tight crack between the doors. Then, with an exhale, she surged forward.

Hermione thought she heard someone squeak in fear, but the sound of metal thrusting between the wooden doors sent another, louder whinge into the Entrance Hall. The sword vibrated in her hands, and with a blinding flash, the doors burst open violently and Hermione stumbled into the Great Hall.

The others ran inside, flanking Hermione as she lowered the sword's tip to the stone floor. The sword still trembled in her hand, but Hermione sheathed it against her left thigh as her eyes took in the Great Hall. The ceiling above was a clear starry sky where there had been a storm only a few moments before. The cots that had filled the space were in piles against the sidewalls, obviously blown away. There were curse burns on the floor and in the walls, and the raised platform that usually had the staff table was blown to bits.

In the middle of the hall, Harry knelt on the floor, his clothing ragged, breathing hard with his back to the door. Ron was the first to move, his wand poised to cast, and Hermione's hand itched for her lost wand.

The hall was silent except for the shuffling feet of the several people moving to encircle Harry. Hermione's hand fell to the pommel of her sword as she too moved, circling around Harry's right side to come to stand before him. On the floor below Harry was a small figure and Hermione had to narrow her eyes to see, the hall was quite dark.

"Harry? Mate?" Ron asked, lowering his wand slightly to move to Harry's left shoulder.

On the floor was a boy, quite small, in torn school robes with a Slytherin crest on the breast. The face was familiar, but Hermione knew it was not the boy she had found singing over Harry.

Metamorphmagus. Hermione bit her lip, hating herself for forgetting.

The boy's eyes were closed, his wand broken in half next to his limp hand. For a moment, Hermione thought the boy was dead, but as she watched more intently, she could see his chest rise and fall slowly.

"It's over."

Harry rose stiffly, his wand in his hand, his glasses cracked as they perched from the end of his nose.

"Teddy?" Ron asked quietly, his hand clapping on Harry's shoulder.

Harry's eyes moved down to the boy, and Hermione's chin lifted as she noticed something odd about Harry's expression. It was emotionless. Teddy was Harry's godson…

"I pulled him out of his body… The Dark Lord…"

Hermione blinked.

"He should be fine."

The Great Hall was slowly lit as the others began Conjuring candles to float overhead, and in the light, Hermione could see how pale and sickly Teddy looked. In his weakened state, Teddy's usual blue hair, Hermione recalled from his baby pictures, was plain brown. Teddy looked very much like his father.

"Have you been hurt?" Hermione heard Ron ask of Harry.

Harry straightened, turning for the door. "I'm fine."

The sword had been trembling all the while, and as Harry turned his back, not acknowledging much beyond Ron's questions, the sword seemed to quake under her hand, the pommel buzzing with magical power.

Not right…not right…

Astoria was the one to pick Teddy's small body up from the floor, Draco at her side. They whispered to each other too softly for Hermione to hear. The others were talking amongst themselves, and Hermione felt a sense of relief pass through them.

Too easy…too quick…

Hermione's left hand clasped around the hilt of the sword, feeling the vibration run up her arm to her shoulder and into the rest of her body. Tearing her eyes away from Harry's retreating back, she glanced around the Hall, to the devastation again. Despite the curse burns and the lingering scent of ozone, Hermione found everything to be quite contained. Taking a step forward, her boot toe knocked against Teddy's broken wand.

The sword pulsed in her hand.

Bending down to take the wand, she paused, seeing an exposed unicorn hair from the light coloured wood. Touching it, Hermione felt the lingering spark of magical conduction. The sword burned, and Hermione tore her hand away, lifting her left palm to her face seeing there was a red mark where the handle had fit in her hand. With one knee on the floor, Hermione drew the sword, looking at the blade and seeing the reflection of her golden eyes in the smooth metal.

However, the reflection did not last long, and Hermione gasped softly as a picture formed on the surface.

Hermione watched, and watched, and then snarled.

"Stop!"

Ron and the others whirled toward Hermione who held the sword up, her eyes blazing as Harry paused, but did not turn.

"Restrain him!" she shouted.

Confusion dulled every person in the Hall, but Hermione had seen the truth and she was not about to let Harry Potter out of her sight.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Taken from Wikipedia (quick description)—In the 'Mabinogion; story Lludd and Llefelys, the red dragon fights with an invading White Dragon. His pained shrieks cause women to miscarry, animals, and plants to become barren. Lludd, king of Britain, goes to his wise brother Llefelys in France. Llefelys tells him to dig a pit in the centre of Britain, fill it with mead, and cover it with cloth. Lludd does this, and the dragons drink the mead and fall asleep. Lludd imprisons them, still wrapped in their cloth, in Dinas Emrys in Snowdonia.


	23. 23

**23**

 

 

 

At age twelve, Tom Riddle had the penchant for mischief, to put it mildly. However, he pretended to be very good for the chance to go the cinema the summer before his First Year at Hogwarts. Of course, he knew he was a wizard, Professor Dumbledore had told him several months before, but still Tom Riddle was speculative.

The Rex, as it was called, was across the river in East Finchley, and the bus fare alone was more money than he had saved for a whole year, but the orphanage rewarded the older children with a film or a visit to a park on occasion. Tom Riddle loved the cinema especially, though in later years, he shunned anything Muggle in lieu of his newly discovered family history and burgeoning ideal. However, at age twelve, Tom Riddle had tried to be very good so he could go to the cinema one more time before going to Hogwarts.

He sat in the front row; ignoring Dennis Bishop's elbow jabs into his ribs as the newsreel ran first. It was an RKO-Pathé newsreel, first showing a segment on a tragic rail smash in Norfolk, then a submarine disaster off North Wales, and another disaster off the coast of New York in America. Tom Riddle was enthralled.

The film started shortly after the newsreel, the RKO symbol with the radio tower upon the globe appearing, and the introductory music beginning. A man from the waist down began dancing on a polished floor, and Tom Riddle was entranced.

'Top Hat' was an older film by American standards, having come out in cinemas in 1936, but to Tom Riddle in summer of 1939, it was new and enchanting. The plot was simple, but it was not the plot that stuck in his twelve-year-old mind, as he rode with the other children back to the orphanage in Lambeth—it was the music. Fred Astaire had sang 'Cheek to cheek' to Ginger Rogers as they danced, he in a tailcoat and she in a feathered dress. Tom Riddle did not remember the other songs, but one was stuck in his head, though the words meant little to him. He did not know what it was to have a 'passionate love,' and he had no 'affliction' to ever dance. He did not understand why the characters seemed to spontaneously burst out in song, but it was a film, and far from real.

For the rest of the summer, Tom Riddle hummed the song, having memorized the words on first hearing. It was a melody that made him feel strange inside, and he never could identify the exact feeling in words.

It was hummed whenever he felt particularly angry to calm him, or when he was feeling particularly vindictive. It was sang when he wished to leave the orphanage to find his father, whom he was sure had to be a powerful 'wizard' like Professor Dumbledore. It was sang when the snake he kept in the back garden of the orphanage near the coal chute was being fed from Tom Riddle's collection of dead insects and desiccated rats he caught in the cellar. It was sung as he stood on the magical Platform of 9 ¾ waiting for his destiny. All through his First Year, and into the summer when the orphanage had to evacuate to Cornwall, the song was in his head. He hummed it after Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson fell ill when he showed him what he could do without a wand. And when he heard Mrs. Cole played the record on the gramophone when the orphans were allowed to return to Lambeth, it thrilled him.

'Cheek to cheek,' meant little to him in terms of what the lyrics said. Tom Riddle simply liked the tune and the memory of hearing the song for the first time. It represented a type of joy to him, and excitement. It stopped, however, when he learned the truth.

Tom Riddle, Sr. was no wizard; he was not in the least bit magical. He was a Muggle who had left his mother, abandoned him. The truth crushed him, it angered him, and it made the song, so enchanting in his mind, stop. There was no music, no films, and no dreams, save one. Kill, destroy, and desolate. Make his father pay for his sins, make the world see him, as he truly was—raw power in human form.

The last hopeful piece of him died, a piece that constantly hummed the song. It was a blackened piece of his soul, one that yearned for universal recognition. His soul split, the first piece not made into what he would call a Horcrux, but set aside and left to wail for comfort that would never come in a far distant place away from his mind and body.

It was this piece that Harry Potter saw on the edge of oblivion, though, at the time, Harry Potter believed it to be the last surviving piece of Voldemort—a piece that would be destroyed with the incarnation of the man. However, Voldemort had no need for a soul to be able to move, to fight, and to murder. The piece, the flayed baby, representative of the last bit of 'Tom Riddle,' lay dormant, waiting for someone who would find it, pick it up, and comfort it.

Tom Riddle, Harry Potter, and more recently Teddy Lupin—all orphans, all lost, and all vulnerable to the evils of the world. It would be little Teddy Lupin who would find the flayed baby, hold it in his arms, and be possessed.

Teddy Lupin had no defence, and Tom Riddle's soul pushed the boy's soul out of the way. He was Sorted rightly into his House, and he had demonstrated his ability. Of course, he was nearly found out by Andromeda Tonks whose sudden death was brought about by the realization that her 'sweet Teddy' was not Teddy at all. The death of Teddy Lupin's closest living relative was the only time that Tom Riddle's hold was shaken, and Teddy fled, but not knowing from what.

When Teddy was found again, Tom Riddle was in control again, and he had gained strength and knowledge. Tom Riddle learned what happened to his older self, who was to blame, and he set out to make the world that had rejected him pay, and handsomely.

In the guise of a boy, Tom Riddle could move with some ease, traveling across a Twenty-First Century Britain, he made his preparations, found his assets, and plotted against his enemies. By the beginning of February 2010, Tom Riddle waited for the Ministry to find him, and waited to be set into the right place at the right time.

Teddy Lupin knew what the Imperius was, he had known of all the Unforgivables even before he was old enough to hold a wand, but to cast them was beyond the boy's power. Tom Riddle had used Unforgivables without the notice of the Ministry or the staff of Hogwarts in his First Year. What Teddy could not and would not do, Tom did.

It was more than spell craft, of course. Taking Teddy's knowledge, Tom knew how to find information about certain people integral in the downfall of the Dark Lord. What was more, Tom poured over Wizengamot transcripts he found in the Library at Hogwarts, as well as other papers he found in his grandmother's keeping as she played quite a secretive role in what many called the 'War.' Tom learned more about Albus Dumbledore, his involvement with the Ministry, and a law passed after the 'War' having to deal with the 'Seal.'

As Teddy-Tom waited for the Wizengamot to award custody to Horace Slughorn, he wandered the halls of the Ministry. Many people knew him—Harry Potter, his godfather, Arthur Weasley, a friend of his 'father,' and so many others. They all blinked at him, lost, never knowing what had happened to them.

And the Curse… The Dark Lord had murdered the pervious Dark Wizard, Gellert Grindelwald, in his own cell no less. Tom was very impressed with his older self. To overcome such a figure as Grindelwald was a mark of true power. A type of patricide, and a rite of passage…

The Holokauston was a Curse more fitting for him and not Grindelwald, and Tom found it in Horace Slughorn's journal marked December 31, 1944, what would have been Tom's eighteenth birthday.

_'Alexjic Krum writes to tell me of this new "Curse" and instructed I burn the letter after reading it. I, however, must keep the knowledge while it may be taboo in Eastern Europe…'_

Tom's soul vaguely remembered feeling a type of tenderness for Horace Slughorn once, remembering how helpful the rotund wizard had been in helping him adjust to life in Slytherin. Tom wondered if Horace had any idea how he had been used.

The pieces were in place, and Tom via Teddy, waited patiently for everything to unfold in the safety of Hogwarts on February 21, 2010.

* * *

"Restrain him!"

The tip of Hermione's sword pointed at Harry, but none moved.

Hermione was holding her breath as Harry turned slowly on his heel, pushing his cracked spectacles up his nose and brushing a finger against his scar. Time seemed to freeze as Hermione stared at her old friend's emerald eyes, and he back into her golden eyes.

The sword, whose name Hermione still did not know, or how it was wrought or when, had shown her the truth. Upon nearly killing little Teddy Lupin, whatever was infesting his body shook free. Like a parasite desperate to live, it moved to another host, and Hermione ground her teeth wondering how Harry Potter could have been so weak.

"What is wrong with you, Hermione?" Ron asked incredulously, moving to Harry's side, his voice bringing air into her lungs and time moving again.

"Yes, Hermione, whatever is wrong?"

Idiots, all bleeding idiots! If Hermione had the breath to scream at Ron, she would have.

The sword hummed audibly and Ron's eyes moved to it, frowning. Apparently, it attracted Harry's attention as well, and he stepped forward, moving so that he was just out of range of the sword. Hermione dared not pay too much attention to the sword as it hummed louder at Harry's proximity, almost hissing as the metal gleamed.

Hermione desperately wished she had her wand.

"You.  _You_  are wrong!" she spat, and Ron stepped forward, placing himself between the sword and Harry.

"Lower that thing, Hermione, by Merlin…" Ron started, his disfigured face twisting angrily.

Hermione did not, and she stiffened as Harry smirked.

The others in the hall began to move in closer, and Hermione exhaled sharply as she saw Dennis Creevey raise his wand and Theo Nott beginning to move directly behind her. She wanted to scream the truth, that Harry, her dear, sweet Harry had once again fallen victim to the evilest soul known to humankind.

How could they not see it?

A Stinging Hex forced her hand to relinquish hold of the sword and another on the back of her knees, penetrating the dragon hide forced her to kneel. Harry said nothing as Hermione glanced up into his face, her hand finding the hilt of the sword. In his eyes, she could see 'him' staring back at her.

'Fitting place for you, Mudblood,' those eyes said, and Harry turned away, striding out of the Hall.

Disbelief, shock, it was all Hermione could feel at first as Harry's untidy black haired head disappeared into the Entrance Hall among a few lingering folk who had not retreated from danger further into the castle. Hermione knelt as the others backed away from her, and as she looked about, several eyes fell upon her doubtfully. Among them were Creevey who had sent the hex to her hand, and Nott who had hexed the backs of her knees. There were others, but there were also some eyes that were wide with fear or anger. The Malfoys, with an unconscious Teddy, were seething, but they were not looking at her, but at Ron. The Flints were whispering frantically, Marcus' dark eyes having followed Harry.

"Well?" Ron asked, towering over her, his arms crossed before him. "Are you going to tell me…"

"No."

Her voice was harsh, and the disbelief was giving way to rage.

"Where's Charlie?"

Hermione did not answer, grasping the sword to let it dangle from her right hand as she stood. She would not sheath it until she knew that Voldemort, the last piece of him, was destroyed. Taking a step forward to leave, Ron jumped in front of her.

"Hermione!"

Hermione stepped around him, and again was blocked.

"Damn it, Ron, there is no time for this!" she shouted, and again she could feel Creevey and Nott begin to move.

However, several things happened simultaneously, and Hermione was left blinking at Draco Malfoy who caught Ron's falling form and then to Astoria Malfoy who, despite her small size, held Teddy firmly against her side, and her wand in the other.

The Flints had Stunned Nott and Creevey, and Astoria had Stunned Ron.

"Go!" Draco hissed, helping Ron's limp form to lie on the floor of the Great Hall.

Hermione did not hesitate, and ran.

Her boots skidded over the floor of the Entrance Hall, giving her just enough time to see Harry take off on the abandoned Firebolt she had left. On the ground, in pieces were his glasses.

* * *

She had had no doubt where he was going, and as she emerged from a low cloud, flying at breakneck speed on a Firebolt Three, Hermione finally caught sight of Harry somewhere south of Glasgow. He did not seem to notice her as she sped up to fly high above him just below the clouds.

Shock, it had to be shock that had so many in the Great Hall unable to move. Hermione ground her teeth, wishing she could knock sense into Ron. Even she had wanted to believe that Harry would be strong enough to resist…

Upon landing on a dark hill below a starlit lake, Hermione lost sight of him again, but knew that he had landed. Under her feet, she could feel a heart beat like pulse of magic. It was as if Hermione had stepped on an electrical cable and was receiving an almost unpleasant thrum of power through her nerves.

Dinas Emrys.

There was no turning back, she knew. This would be her personal Armageddon.

With no wand to light her way, Hermione's eyes widened to take in as much starlight and muted moonlight as possible. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and then she saw she stood on a track along the slope of the hill. Trees rose all around her, but few had leaves and most only had buds. Summer had not come, as it should have, and even the wind was cold as it blew around her body.

Hermione was not exactly sure where she was going, but knew she was moving about the face of the hill, to the west, finding that she had to take great care of where her boots fell. Portions of the hill track was steep or narrow, however, she felt as if the power of the place guided her for soon she came upon a wider track, more level, but still heavily wooded. Standing in the middle of the track, cast in shadow, a broom discarded, was Harry Potter. His back was to her, but Hermione was certain he knew she was so near.

She felt stupid. No wand meant no magic beyond basic wandless spells, and none that she knew would protect her or be used in offence. All she had was the sword, which, in truth, she knew nothing about using in any way that might save her from Curses or Hexes. All the same, her right hand went to the hilt, fingers wrapping about the handle to draw.

Perhaps she could try to distract him somehow, or call to the part of Harry Potter that had to still exist. Harry was not weak, but Hermione knew he had been weakened—how else would 'he' be able to get inside again? Losing friends, children, and taking so much of the blame unduly upon himself, Harry Potter was much the teenage boy she remembered, cursing himself for being fooled at the Department of Mysteries.

"Harry…" she said aloud. "Please."

Even in the dark, his eyes were brilliant and wrong, emerald tinged with red and slightly luminous. Without the glasses and the wind blowing through his untidy hair, Harry was almost beautiful in the starlight.

"Why? Why are you here?"

It had come out in a near sob, and the dampness she felt on her face was not just tears of despair and fear, but of exhaustion. Charlie would be near by, surely, and Charlie  _would_  know what Ron did not.

"It should be obvious," Harry said, but his voice was not his own, instead it was a hiss like sound with a hint of deeper timbre that Hermione knew from the voice she heard echoing over the grounds of Hogwarts in May, 1998. "All magic is moving to this spot, pulling in on itself, sending out ripples and wakes behind it."

Hermione blinked in realization, but kept her eyes wide to see Harry's face standing twenty or more feet along the track. The source of the Seal was using whatever magic was left in Britain, and she wondered if it were possible to somehow tap into that power, drawing magic into a vessel, a body…

"Why?" she whispered.

Harry shifted and she realized his wand was in his hand. She had to stop thinking of the man as Harry, no matter the resemblance. 'He' would not hesitate to cut her down where she stood, then again, what she knew of Tom Riddle cum Voldemort, he was proud.

"Is that all you can ask, Mudblood?"

The palpable venom in the faux voice made Hermione shudder. She had never come face to face with the 'Dark Lord,' until now, and it was in the guise of a man she loved.

"You  _have_  to fight, Harry. You have beaten him many times over, do it again!"

'He' laughed, and it sounded as if he were gurgling on water.

"Precious, sweet Potter…so weak…"

Hermione straightened.

"Jaime is still alive! And Ginny, think of them!"

Hermione stumbled back suddenly, an invisible force slapping her across the face, and Hermione's vision turned red. She would not kill Harry; she could not, even if she had the power to do so. If anything, she would delay him until Charlie could find the source of the Seal and, hopefully, disable it. Hermione did not doubt Charlie's ability; he had proven himself a formidable wizard.

Straightening again, Hermione tightened her grip about the sword handle.

"Voldemort is nothing, you made sure of that, Harry," she growled, tasting blood in her mouth.

Again, a spell lashed out and Hermione was forced to her knees. She could taste more blood in her mouth and feel it dripping from her nose.

"Not all is lost, Harry. There is still—"

The flash of spell fire blinded her, but still Hermione moved, rolling on the dark and rocky ground as the sickly red light of a Torture Curse slammed just on the spot where she knelt.

Hermione rolled to her feet, crouching, and standing, drew the sword, which glowed a pale blue as it had when she found it in the depths of the Horcrux Cave. It lit the track and Harry's snarling face and red eyes, all the lovely green Hermione had come to know, gone.

"There is still hope!"

The words came from her mouth in a shout, but it was more than words, it was power, and Harry's handsome face contorted. For an instant, the eyes cleared to green, but were overpowered again. Hermione could see the internal battle of wills, and could see that Harry was losing.

The sword hummed in her hands and when spell fire flashed again, the sword moved. All around Hermione, the spell was deflected, slamming into the ground and into trees. It was as one tree began to fall that Hermione had to run to keep from being crushed. Leaping up onto a low rock wall, an ancient fortification built after the time of Vortigern, another spell flashed.

Hermione landed, her face in the ground, her arms above her head, the sword gone. She knew the pain; the pain of being Stunned, but it did not keep her from curling her limbs to begin to rise.

Her eyes were dazzled, and the irises did not widen fast enough to see, but still she rose, a hand searching for the sword. On her hands and knees, Hermione gasped for breath, blood dripping from her nose and into her mouth. She did not rise completely when sharp, penetrating pain slipped through the soft of her back, through her gut and into the ground below.

The slide of metal through flesh and bone caused Hermione to grunt as it was pushed down and pulled out again, three times, until all she could see was the cold, dark ground under her face. The sword fell before her clutching hands in the grass and rock, the metal hissing, the blue glow obscured by black liquid.

"Goodbye, Hermione Granger."

* * *

Charlie… Charlie…

Time moved slowly, every second a minute, and every minute an hour. Hermione stared at the sword, realizing that her own blood stained the blade.

Harry had killed her. No, Voldemort had killed her, using his bare hands to do so and it had taken no time at all.

In the starlight, she listened as footfalls moved away from her, a derisive snort the last sound she heard over the hissing of the sword. Moving her right hand from the grass, she grasped the blade, not caring that the lethally sharp edges cut into her palm.

The sword had saved her once; perhaps it would do it again?

Her blood pooled hotly under her body, and Hermione licked her lips. Blood was everywhere and in everything, her mouth, her nose, her hair from splatter. She could still feel the cool blade in her body, piercing her kidneys, her intestines, her liver, and a lung. Hermione would die slowly, knowing that no arteries were severed, but not knowing how she knew.

There was still a chance.

Her bloody hand moved from the blade to the hilt and stiffened fingers wrapped about the grip. The sword, whatever its name, hummed, and with it, Hermione had the power to rise to her knees and eventually to her feet.

Aranrúth was its name, perhaps, and as Hermione stumbled along the track, the blood stained sword's tip dragging into the soil. 'King's Ire,' a fictional sword that was forged by Elves, and later given to men as an heirloom of a long passed age of time… Lost in a battle with a king whose body was encapsulated in a cave to await the end of time…

Fiction, all fiction…

Hermione could think of other names of great, magical swords, but those thoughts were soon gone as blood began to run down her legs over the dragon hide, her cloak in tatters behind her as the wind caught it. She knew she was no warrior; she was simply a woman who needed the world to keep on moving and living. Although, she wished she were a warrior instead of a beaten thing trailing its own blood behind it.

She would die on Dinas Emrys, and perhaps it was fitting that she do so. So close to the end, lives were always lost in those famous adventure stories… Hermione Granger was not the hero.

* * *

"Go!"

Hermione felt Charlie jerk at her pleading shout, and then he was gone.

Using the last bit of her strength, she rolled onto her right side, eyes pointing to the rock face above her. She watched Charlie disappear into a small passage, and she smiled. Charlie would save them all.

The sound of footfalls again, caught her attention, but Hermione only closed her eyes, not wanting to see the beloved face so twisted by a soul so dark. She had no more energy to plead with Harry Potter to fight.

"Disgusting…"

Metal clanged against rock, and Hermione kept her eyes shut as the air moved around her and the footfalls faded into the distance. When she opened her eyes again, it was to see the sword's blade before her face, the weapon thrust into the ground and standing upright before her.

I tried, she said to herself, fingers twitching and falling against the cool metal of the blade. I tried…I wish…

Hermione's eyes shut again, for the last time, but still she lived, and could see and watch the truth like a spectre floating over the scene inside the cave beyond.


	24. 24

**24**

 

 

 

How  _does_  one wake a dragon?

Charlie was out of time. He stood next to the golden throne, his eyes upon the shadow falling in the passage. He was not sure whom Hermione had meant, but he knew that it was danger. With his wand poised, Charlie's eyes moved back to the stone figure on the throne.

Then, 'he' was there, standing just at the edge of the watery pit, and Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"What is it you are here to do?"

Harry Potter stood with his wand ready to cast, his glasses gone, his clothing ragged. However, as Charlie gazed back, he knew that it was not Harry, his brother-in-law. The eyes glowed red, the face too pale, and the voice wrong.

Charlie did not answer, instead ignored the man, and began thinking. How does one wake a dragon? He had only been concerned with incapacitating dragons, wrangling them, healing hatchlings if they were injured…

It came to him suddenly as he could feel Hermione's blood soak through his jumper and to his skin.

Blood.

Human blood was of particular taste to dragons, a lure, a drug that caused many dragons to go into a frenzy. It had always been human blood that attracted dragons to attack in the past. In the long history of dragons, Charlie knew that besides a penchant for hoarding treasure, dragons considered humans one of three things—enemies, food, or allies. It was rare that dragons would ever ally with humans and through hundreds and hundreds of years, most dragons were more like over large attack dogs, the ancient power lost through the generations.

Charlie took his wand and stretching out his left hand, gritted his teeth as he cast.

However, Charlie had no time to think about the deep cut in his palm as he whirled to cast a Shield Charm before him and the golden throne.

"You will not wake him!"

The Blasting Hex was cast aside and Charlie moved, gripping the back of the throne with his bloody hand and leaping over to stand before the slumbering a calcite covered effigy of Y Ddraig Goch. His blood dripped from his left hand, splattering the throne, the calcite covered figure and the rocky peninsula under his feet.

"This world is over…" Harry muttered darkly, and Charlie had to keep reminding himself that it was not Harry Potter speaking. "I will see it is over!"

Charlie winced as his fingernails dug deeper into the cut, and he shook his hand free to splatter more blood onto the throne behind him. It was still such a small amount of blood, and Charlie knew that it was not enough. He also considered he could be wrong…

"What would the point be in that?" Charlie asked, the rest of his mind turning quickly.

If not blood…flesh?

Harry's face twisted into a disturbing smile. "Revenge? Or would you like something more intricately detailed?"

Charlie said nothing, peering down his nose at Harry's possessed body. He was not sure how his brother-in-law came to be used, for the last he knew they were looking for a boy…

"You are in the way."

"Obviously," Charlie muttered darkly.

Charlie had never come face to face with Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts; he had only ever seen the wicked man out of the corner of his eye or at a distance. Even then, Charlie never had to face Voldemort's sneering countenance. Using Harry's face, Charlie felt ill just looking at the man, but also resolute.

He had to act.

Harry's body moved, not to cross the scaly bridge, but to propel itself upward without a broom, and Charlie remembered… Voldemort could fly. Memories of Harry telling him and Bill about how George lost his ear over Little Whinging, and seeing Voldemort defying the laws of magic by flying to pursue. With Harry's body taken over, could he fly as well?

Spell fire caused Charlie to stumble, his bleeding hand itching and tingling as he fell back to cast a Shield Charm, however, something happened that had Charlie suddenly lost for a moment.

A hand grabbed his wrist and he sank into the throne, into the stone, and came to rest upon the golden seat, blinded by darkness. As if the figure had been an illusion…

He felt the painful rasp of a Curse against his body and felt cold take over his body and his blood. There was a sound, like spell fire colliding against a ward, and the smell of ozone, and then, as if waking from the longest sleep he had ever had, Charlie opened his eyes, seeing only in shades of red.

* * *

For over one thousand years, Y Ddraig Goch slept peacefully with his enemy embalmed in a pit of mead. Y Ddraig Goch had had many names; the Welsh name the most recent. He had been called a 'scourge,' an enemy of men. He had been called 'evil,' and he had been defeated before. However, Y Ddraig Goch had many ages of men to know that he was eternal and no matter how defeated he had been, he would always be until the Last Battle, and the dissolution of the earth. His disposition changed, as did his perceptions. Man had become powerful and magic lived still, manifesting in men who called themselves 'wizards.' It was an interesting development to Y Ddraig Goch, as he had seen the rise and fall of many ages of the earth, the coming, and going of entire races.

Man was vigilant, having learned an ancient lesson of the agents of evil. Evil was to be destroyed. Y Ddraig Goch had renounced his allegiances before the age in which the name Y Ddraig Goch was given, and allied himself with the peoples that lived on an island nation sometimes called Breoton or Albion. Of course, in his very nature, he loved gold and treasure, he loved riddles, he loved the taste of mulled mead, and he loved the scent of human blood.

Several times in a millennia, he spent his time in human form, only revealing his true form when it was time to battle. In his last foray, he had walked among the people of Albion, seen their tenacity, and seen their cruelty. He had indulged in a human life for a short while in his terms, tasted the things that drove men to madness, had riches, a wife, a house, and a love. It was a fleeting thing, of course, he being immortal and not human, and in time, he went to battle with the last of his kin, the White Dragon. It was in this last battle that Y Ddraig Goch wearied of the world, and fell into a deep slumber.

The call came with the scent of blood. It was a familiar scent, one that he missed. The scent was just enough to make him realize that he was no longer alone in his cave and that a man was standing just before him. There was something even more familiar about the blood he smelled and felt, something kindred, something powerful, and that made him begin to see beyond his slumber to the cave beyond.

Evil had entered his sanctuary. He could feel it, a fragment of an ancient evil that was present during his birth, but had faded and disappeared in the coming of new ages. It was stronger than he remembered, and that strength made him angry. Man had vanquished this evil before, and yet, it was in  _his_  sanctuary, only slightly aware of who and what he was. The Great Enemy, his father, had yet to return to the world, and Y Ddraig Goch felt no hesitation to destroy the fragment of evil. It was not the sake for men, or for some grand gesture of true Good, but it was because that fragment of an ancient evil irritated him.

The man stumbled back when the evil moved to strike the fatal blow and Y Ddraig Goch acted, his right hand lashing out and pulled on the man's wrist, pulling him back into the cold. Y Ddraig Goch had slept too long, and he needed the life warmth, and the power he felt in the man to be whole again. When he felt the man settle, he began whispering even as an evil spell hit his body.

The man was a kinsman, a far descendant perhaps, but in the warmth of the man's life, Y Ddraig Goch knew that providence had brought the man to him for another battle.

He could see into the man's heart and mind, see the new age and what came with it. He could see histories, faces, families, pain, and suffering. The fragment of evil had been contained due to the will of magical men, but the magic was dying and with it, every living thing. Y Ddraig Goch did not fear death, for he feared nothing. Perhaps, he had thought many times, where there was anger, there should have been fear.

Therefore, Y Ddraig Goch greeted his kinsman, and opened his eyes for the first time in one thousand years. He knew what had to be done.

* * *

The land shook and a terrible sound filled the air. Albion wept as once again the Red Dragon woke to go to War, and from every corner of the realm, whatever living creature was left, trembled in fear.

* * *

The Red Dragon was bigger than any other known to the Wizarding world and when it took flight into the night sky over Wales, the other dragons bowed their heads in fearful respect as their pantokrator's wings beat the air to cause gales. The Red Dragon glowed in the sky, casting the landscape in bloody light. As it flew higher and higher, still it could be seen for miles around.

Then a roar came that made the earth shake and the sea churn. It was this roar that broke the Seal over Britain, and the heavens flashed and all eyes that looked to the sky were blinded. Powerful magic was sent back to those who had unwillingly given it. The Red Dragon glided over Wales to the north, over Ireland, over Scotland and the outlying islands before heading south. The earth let loose its joyful cry and thousands of voices rang out, every living creature bowing its head in respect as the Red Dragon of Britain passed.

With jade green eyes, the Red Dragon surveyed its realm, seeing the living and dead, and lamenting that the ancient evil had once again slipped back into the world. The Red Dragon was not benevolent by nature, but it protected its realm with jealousy. When it flew over every place, it came back to its cave, folding in on itself to land upon the ground of Dinas Emrys in man form.

Standing next to the body of a woman, it regarded the woman with more than pity.

She had wielded a familiar blade older than even he, and it was this blade that whispered to him.

'Caranamlug, the Last Battle has not come yet?'

"No, but it is near for us."

His voice echoed over the hill and down to the lake and valley, too large for the form he took.

'At the end of the Age?'

"Yes, and I will be waiting."

His glowing eyes were like green jade, his long hair an unnatural shade of crimson, and on his body, dark blue markings that had survived since the last Age, markings declaring him free of the Great Enemy.

"And this woman?" he asked, his attentions moving to the dying woman whose eyes looked up at him blindly, her lips stained with blood.

'Maethil, the mate of the one who has given his body for you to wake in this time. She will not die, the evil used me to kill her, not knowing what I was and that I would not let her be killed…'

He smirked, the blue markings on his ageless face shifting. He could smell her blood, and it took every bit of his control to keep from devouring her whole. Such sweet blood, imbued with old power that he was certain the woman knew nothing about.

She would not die, and the soul he had borrowed rejoiced.

It was this stirring of the soul inside him that made him rise. His time was short, his task done. The world was set right for the time being, and the end of the Age would come too quickly for him.

"You will stay with her, Gaelchathol?"

'I chose her, I will stay.'

He stepped back, smirked again, and with a short barking laugh, began up the path back to his sanctuary.

The woman's descendants would hold the sword, and most likely wield it at the Last Battle. He would be anxious to see whose face would be screaming a war cry.

* * *

Charlie blinked as sensation returned to his body, lying on the rocky floor as the golden horn glinted in the light of dawn streaming down from the ceiling. He watched his mirror image lift the horn to pale lips, a blue marked throat moving to drink. He could not move.

_And mead makes me sleep again…_

The vision ended, and the golden horn clattered to the floor next to Charlie's face as the calcite replaced that living flesh. It had been a dream, perhaps.

The sound of a groan startled Charlie and he pushed his upper body from the cold rock to look out into the rest of the cavern. Harry Potter was lying on his back near the entrance, a hand rubbing his face, his clothing in burnt tatters.

Charlie frowned.

Standing unsteadily, Charlie found his wand resting next to the golden throne with the still rock figure, and gripped it. Then, picking up the golden drinking horn, he placed it on the flattened stalactite. He studied the form on the throne, poised as it was before as if it had never moved.

"Charlie?"

He turned, seeing Harry was sitting up, his emerald green eyes squinting toward him. Charlie began to move to cross the watery pit again, but it no longer glowed and there was no white dragon under the surface. Charlie wondered if it had been an illusion.

Charlie watched Harry begin to rise, holding his head in one hand, his other curled about his wand.

"Is it… Is it over?"

Charlie blinked, and then with a concerted thought, Apparated to stand next to Harry.

* * *

The cave's entrance disappeared behind them as if it was never there, and Charlie's eyes narrowed in the brightened sky of a new day. The wind felt hot against his dragon hide armour, and on the air, he could smell summer.

Harry Potter walked beside him, haltingly, as if injured. Charlie paid no mind to Harry as his eyes were dazzled by the reflection of a sword sticking out of the ground on the path below them. He wanted to run, seeing a dark figure lying on bloody grass.

However, a series of pops signified the arrival of others, and Charlie sighed as five people ran up the track from below.

His brother was the first to reach Hermione while Marcus and Katie Flint, with wands drawn, ran toward Harry.

"Drop it, Potter!" Marcus snarled, and Charlie swayed on his feet.

Harry complied, but already Draco Malfoy and his father, the last people Charlie expected to see, had joined Marcus and Katie.

"It's over Flint. That is Potter, not the Dark Lord," Lucius Malfoy drawled, his snake headed cane tapping against one of the many rocks on the hillside.

"How can we be sure?" Draco murmured.

Charlie collapsed.

"Charlie? Merlin, we need to get them all back to Hogwarts," Katie breathed, moving to Charlie's side.

He was still conscious, but exhausted, his body feeling odd, as if his mind were somehow disconnected.

"How…?" he breathed, finally mastering the ability to speak one word.

"How did we find you? Draco… He knew where you were…" Katie answered in a whisper as Marcus moved to lift Charlie to his feet; his thick arms shifting Charlie until he was being carried over one wide shoulder.

"We go, now…" Draco whispered, and Charlie knew no more as Side-Along Apparition took him.

* * *

He awoke in darkness, and slowly became aware of his body. It was a slow process. Somehow, something had changed inside him for he felt it keenly although not knowing what it was.

Enlightenment, perhaps?

Charlie lay still for a long while, trying to remember his last memory. His mind was muddled, and he saw fragments of memory behind his eyelids, none of which seemed possible. He had roused the Red Dragon, Y Ddraig Goch, once the enemy of mankind, but no longer.

A heat, an imperative, burned into his soul, and Charlie remembered one thing keenly—there were more wars and battles to come. He had to be ready.

* * *

"You are Mr. Charlie Weasley, are you not?"

Charlie opened his eyes, turning his face toward the sound of a man's voice. In the next cot in the Hospital Wing, was Horace Slughorn, dressed in a familiar pair of green silk pyjamas. Charlie vaguely remembered the man at the Battle of Hogwarts. Slughorn had retired by the time Charlie started Hogwarts, and he knew little of him.

Charlie nodded slowly, still lying on his back, exhausted. Slughorn was propped up on pillows, a book on his lap, but Charlie could not see the title.

"You have been asleep for some time, and I do say, you are looking much more in the realm of the living than when they first brought you here."

Charlie licked his dry lips, but said nothing. However, his jade green eyes bored into the older, fatter, man's face, and the old man nodded.

"Miss Granger will survive. There were doubts at first; two days have passed since they brought you and she here. She is on the mend."

"Wha—" Charlie wheezed, his mouth dry, his energy still not what it should be in his mind. "happened with V-Vold…the boy…"

Slughorn shifted on his cot, and Charlie could see the right side of the older man's face, and the bandage over his temple and ear. In fact, the longer Charlie looked at the man, he could see that Slughorn was too pale, his eyes too reddened, his body weak.

"I am sure you will be told soon enough, but I was the one to first confront the Dark Lord in his latest manifestation."

Charlie blinked slowly. "The boy?"

Slughorn nodded gravely. "Teddy Lupin. The boy will live, and I have suggested that he have his memory modified somehow… He did not know what he was doing or why."

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but Slughorn continued. "I had suspected something was off when I brought Teddy back from the Ministry. He had disappeared, wandered through the Ministry and Diagon Alley before and after his hearing. I assume that was when he cast the Imperius on those sixty-seven poor souls. Only Tom Riddle could have done something like that…"

Slughorn turned contemplative, but Charlie listened, beginning to add things up in his weary mind.

"I will always wonder why he picked Mr. Potter. Surely, he would have seen that Teddy was not himself… When I confronted Teddy, he nearly killed me. He had the capacity to do so, but did not. I think that whatever Tom was oppressing of Teddy's soul was beginning to weaken. Knowing that Mr. Potter was alive, Tom was surely delighted to slip inside the body of the one who had destroyed him many times over… But still, how Mr. Potter could allow it…" Slughorn trailed, shaking his head sadly.

Complacency. Charlie knew that with the Battle of Hogwarts, everyone, even Harry Potter, believed that Voldemort was utterly destroyed. No one could have anticipated the lingering hatred and vengeance that would nearly decimate their world.

"Then the music… That wonderful tune that I enjoyed…I heard him singing it after it echoed through all of us like a haunting voice. I began thinking. The soul that had a hold of Teddy Lupin was outing itself, consciously or not, echoing through the earth, through the natural veins of magic in the ground…

The ancient evil…fragment of the Great Enemy, it was singing out, tainting everything."

Charlie's eyes widened.

"What do you mean?" he whispered, finally able to speak a complete sentence.

Slughorn's eyes glittered as they turned to Charlie and a haunting smile curling his lips and made his moustache quiver.

"What  _do_  I mean, Mr. Weasley?"

Charlie blinked again, agitation coursing through his exhausted body.

"Of that, I will never speak. I know nothing about it, compared to you."

Slughorn said nothing for a long while.

"Rest assured, Mr. Weasley. Voldemort, that manifestation of evil, is now gone. There are other evils we must check now—the evil of mortal men."


	25. 25

**25**

 

 

 

"…all felt the Seal disengage, heard it. We saw the dragon in the sky, heard the roar. It shook everything, I'm surprised the castle did not shake down on our heads…"

Hermione listened to Ron's voice, but did not open her eyes. She could feel a rough hand holding her own, and slowly surfaced into full consciousness.

"Charlie remembers a little. He has told us all what had happened with him, and the Red Dragon. It was fitting, I guess, that Charlie be the one to do what he did. He always had an almost supernatural way with animals, especially dragons. Some of what he told us did not make any sense, though…"

Ron was talking to her, she realized, and her eyes fluttered open.

He was smiling down at her, his disfigurement not so severe as she remembered. Brushing a cropped strand of hair from her face, his smile widened.

"I knew you were listening, 'mione."

She said nothing, lacking the strength to speak or move.

"You're safe now, you're at Hogwarts. The Seal is broken, and you are going to be fine…"

Hermione blinked slowly, and Ron nodded.

"Everyone is doing much better now. Charlie's been up for two days, and everyone is treating him like a hero…" Ron chuckled. "I suppose it is only right."

She blinked again. Ron was different, although the scar still marred his face. It was as if something heavy had been pulled off him, and he reverted to the boy she remembered—kind and loving.

"I wanted to apologize, though…about…"

Her lips trembled and Ron trailed.

"Yeah, I know…you forgive me."

She wanted to smile, but did not.

"I'll send Padma in now. You're going to be fine…"

Ron had said that before, Hermione realized.

* * *

Hermione had spent two weeks in the Hospital Wing by the time she opened her eyes, and it was another three days before she could sit up and speak. Charlie had been by several times, but before he could speak more than a few words to her, he was called away again.

She had been a hairbreadth away from death, Padma told her. The blood loss, combined with the trauma to her organs had been severe. Surprisingly, however, when she was brought back to Hogwarts, her body was already healed enough to make it able for Padma, Justin, and eventually a restored Madam Pomfrey to cure her.

News came to her in small bites, everyone fearing that it would upset or excite her too much. She was still on the mend, and even with magical ability; Hermione was still treated with Muggle medicines.

On a particularly hot July day, Hermione was dozing in her hospital cot, Cooling Charms all around her, when the screens parted and waking Hermione. Lucius Malfoy sat on the foot of her bed, dressed in shirtsleeves, his long hair pulled back in a high ponytail. He was dirty, mud smudged on his high cheekbone and his hands stained. Lucius Malfoy smelled like sweat and Hermione wrinkled her nose. When did a Malfoy ever sweat?

"Curious about the world you have saved, my dear?" he asked finally in a trademark drawl.

Hermione sighed. "I saved nothing…"

Lucius grinned. "That remains to be seen."

She opened her mouth to retort, tell him to disappear, she could see that he was well, the sickness gone from him while she was still hurting.

"Draco and Astoria have decided to return to the Manor with young Theodore Lupin. I suppose that whenever we can manage to pull together a formal system of government, they will adopt him, and try for another child."

Licking her lips, Hermione nodded. "Draco  _is_  the closest thing to family…"

A cousin once removed was better than nothing at all, she supposed. And there was Harry, Teddy's godfather…

"I am staying behind to help get the refugees settled back in their homes, or placed in new situations. Most of the Weasleys have returned to wherever it is that they live, and those who have no other place to go have decided to settle near Hogwarts.

Dufftown was spared, it seems…"

"And the Inferi?"

Lucius sniffed, crossing his legs so that one dirty boot rested upon the knee of his dusty black trousers.

"The bodies in and around Hogwarts have been burnt. Your Mr. Weasley has organized disposing of the rest within twenty miles of Hogwarts. He also had charged a few people to go to London to see what is left of the Ministry…"

Hermione frowned. "Why are you telling me all of this, Lucius?"

Lucius cocked his head and smiled. "Because no one else will. You are being treated as 'delicate,' and we both know you are not…

Now, where was I? Oh yes… Mr. Potter will not be held accountable for the deaths he caused—again. However, it seems that he is now the pariah of the Wizarding world, no longer the hero since your Mr. Weasley destroyed the Seal.

To Potter's credit, he, his wife, and his surviving child have left Britain for greener pastures. In fact, many have left since the Seal was destroyed."

Hermione had been gnawing on her bottom lip, but released it. "And the Muggles, have any come back?"

Lucius grinned delightedly. "I was getting to that…

It seems that when the Seal was destroyed, there was an interesting 'side affect.' Muggles still cannot see Britain, but wizards can. For the past week, the Wizarding world has rallied to Britain's aid. There are already mentions of repopulation by 'immigrants' from the Continent. And British Wizards who were lucky enough to be out of the country when the Seal was enacted are returning.

The problem now is keeping track of who is coming in and out. So far, we have been able to keep any mention of the 'Dark Lord' from being spread beyond those of us who knew the truth. The Headmistress has charged all involved to take a vow of secrecy.

In the meantime, American, French, and Canadian aid has been pouring in to begin cleaning up the dead, restore some basic things we magical folk need while dismantling some of the Muggle monstrosities that dot the landscape—power plants, I think they are called."

She was gaping, she knew, but did not care. The Muggle world could not see Britain…

"By Christmas, we expect to have a bare bones Ministry up and running. There were several Ministry officials taking refuge in the castle, and there will be elections at some point to appoint a new Minister.

I expect there will be several people vying for the position, but I will not be one of them."

Hermione closed her mouth and snorted, crossing her arms before her gown clad chest. The world was changing, it seemed, and Hermione felt a small satisfaction in that fact. Lucius chuckled softly.

"The Daily Prophet is up and running again, a few making it back into Diagon Alley. The economy was the first thing to return with the goblins. It seems that they took refuge in the bowels of Gringotts, their enchantments protecting them, as well as preserving Diagon Alley.

We have been finally getting in shipments of supplies needed here at Hogwarts and the re-opened St. Mungo's. Of course, there is a shortage of manpower, and that is where foreign aid has worked best. However, it is amazing to see how quickly we can rebound for all of this."

Lucius fell silent, his eyes distant. Hermione took the opportunity to look at his face, seeing how healthy he seemed, younger even, and changed. He was still the bane of her existence, but there was a contemplative silence that was lacking before. Lucius chose his words more carefully; at least, it was how it felt to Hermione.

"I had wanted to ask about everything you saw, Hermione, but now… It does not really matter to me anymore…" he mused. "I will be staying here for a few more weeks, unless McGonagall decides to hire me on to teach…"

Again, Hermione snorted. "What?"

Lucius pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "There are still school age children needing to be taught. Granted, the classes will most likely be combined since there are so few, but if there is no education for the children, there is no real future for us. Besides, in about twelve years, I am certain there will be large influx of new students."

"Baby boom," Hermione muttered, letting her arms slip to her lap.

Lucius nodded. "I offered my services to the Headmistress for the DADA post or Herbology if Sprout does decide to leave for South America to stay with her sister. There is also Astronomy, now that Aurora…" he trailed.

Hermione hiccupped a sob, startling herself as the tears began to fall.

The weight of reality all crushed down upon her, starting with Aurora Sinistra. For months, she had lived hour by hour, killed, and regretted none of it. What pained her and caused her tears was the thought of those she had left behind or lost.

Lucius rose, but did not move to her. Instead, he turned to leave, unable to look at her while she cried.

"Its…its really over, isn't it?" she managed through her tears.

Lucius turned his head slightly, but did not look at her. "Yes, my dear, it is really over."

* * *

That night, Hermione lay back in the cot, making a mental list of all the dead that she knew. The Sisterhood of Ine, Viktor whom she had killed unwittingly, Arthur, Angelina, Neville, Percy, many of the Weasley children, all but one of the Potter children, Narcissa and Scorpius Malfoy, Oliver Wood, Susan Bones…the names went on and on.

Her mind moved to Charlie, and what she had seen through the sword that was sheathed and hidden under the edge of the mattress of her cot.

She remembered its name when it spoke to her and showed her the truth. Gaelchathol, sometimes called Celebgrist or simply Silver Sword. Celebgrist called her 'coldagnis' and 'handmaethil.' Hermione was not sure what language the name derived from, but she knew the sword had powers that she had yet to know.

Celebgrist had shown her how the Red Dragon rose, the power of the ancient beast driving out the fragment of Voldemort's soul as if shining the brightest golden light so no shadow could exist. Tom Riddle was nothing compared to the power of the spirit of Y Ddraig Goch. The presumption she felt of Voldemort was driven out and decimated as if it had been nothing at all.

She had watched Charlie become a part of Y Ddraid Goch, and feared. Even when the ancient dragon took human form and spoke to Celebgrist, it had been in words Hermione could not understand. She could only feel the weight of those words and know her own intuition that the words were important. Then consolation came in whispers that she would not die, and Hermione remembered nothing after those words.

There was so much she did not understand.

First, there was the music, which she had not heard since waking. Hermione concentrated, but heard nothing but the ambient hum of enchantments working through the stone of the castle. There was a deeper sound, ancient, that soothed her, though it had been obscured by evil magic for months.

Why could she still feel so keenly the sudden return of magic? Had she somehow trained herself so well to be aware of it?

Who was Y Ddraig Goch, and what were the 'Ages?' What part of history did she suddenly become aware of, and so suddenly? How long had magic truly worked in the ground beneath her?

It was overwhelming, and Hermione eyed the phial of Dreamless Sleep on the bedside table. Padma had left a phial every night since Hermione's dreams had stolen away hours of restful sleep. It was post-traumatic stress, she knew.

Charlie sometimes came at night to lie beside her, but for three days, he had only come to see her once while she was eating breakfast. She needed him near, and yet Hermione was confined to her bed, and still quite weak. She needed to speak with him, touch him. Hermione needed  _Charlie_  to tell her that it was all over.

* * *

Without her wand, Hermione felt naked. She wondered if whoever had taken over for Ollivander in Diagon Alley had managed to survive. Finding a copy of the Prophet, which consisted of eight pages in all, Hermione learned that the near death of their world was being called the 'Scourge.' She had rolled her eyes when she read the byline—Rita Skeeter. Hermione had almost hoped Inferi had ripped the odious woman apart.

Most of the Prophet consisted of notices for new property, adds requesting assistance in farming operations taking place to restore an independence from foreign aid. There were even lists of known dead. Hermione knew that before long the Prophet would be printing theories as to the cause of the 'Scourge,' and she ground her teeth knowing Rita Skeeter would be leading the charge to blame someone.

After breakfast, after the day Lucius Malfoy informed her vaguely of the situation outside the castle, Hermione escaped the Hospital Wing dressed in an old pair of denims and an old Wasps tee shirt that was a size too small. Strapping the sword across her back, she sorely missed her wand more than ever. Leaving the confines of the screens, she found the Hospital Wing nearly empty and the walls and floors scrubbed clean of the smell of death. The rest of the castle was much the same way, and Hermione thought she caught sight of an elf behind a suit of armour, hiding a cleaning rag behind its back.

The Entrance Hall was buzzing with life, and as she stood on the steps, she spotted Dennis Creevey sitting behind a table, listening to an irate Petroc Parkinson complain that his Manor in Cornwall was in ruins and when would someone find him better rooms… The doors to the Great Hall were open and Hermione could see that the House tables were back in place and a large group of people were sitting down to a late breakfast. She spotted Lucius Malfoy's blond head next to a disgruntled Cho Chang. Turning her attention to the open front doors, she could see more people on the grounds, casting Charms on the grass to make it grow over the many graves. There were women placing flowers from the greenhouses on each one, and a serious Seamus Finnegan writing something down on a roll of parchment. Names, Hermione supposed.

Near the door, a notice board had been placed, and was overflowing with tacked up bits of parchment, and it was to that, Hermione went. Her eyes scanned the board, mostly notices for advice on where to settle, advice on respectfully removing Muggle remains, and questions on how to begin breeding cattle. There were also advertisements for volunteer work, clean up crews, supply distribution, and even an advert for a new Head of Magical Transportation and Centaur Liaisons Officer.

Hermione walked toward the front doors next, feeling summer all around her, seeing the trees of the Forbidden Forest leafy and green. Summer had been delayed, and Hermione wondered if winter would be as well. Walking along the path to the gates, Hermione looked toward Hogsmeade where several structures had been rebuilt and people moved about again in the distance.

The life that had nearly been squashed was moving again. There was a fragile peace in the air, the fear still present, but diminishing. Hermione inhaled deeply, the scent of death almost gone and replaced by flowers, the loch, and the Forest. Resting her hands on her hips, she angled her face to the sky and the warm sunlight. The nightmare was over, and it seemed too good to be true.

"You are looking much better, Hermione," a voice said from her right.

Minerva McGonagall stood beside Hermione, her spectacles dangling from a chain about her neck and resting over her old teaching robes. Her face was also angled toward the sun.

"Thank you, Professor…" Hermione whispered, closing her eyes and continuing to bask.

"Mr. Potter has left a message for you, one that I have kept after you returned from Wales…"

Hermione opened her eyes again.

"I have not mentioned it to any one else, considering… Considering that Mr. Potter took himself and his family out of Britain, ashamed."

Hermione sighed and let her chin fall.

"It was only a verbal message. He wanted to let you know how sorry he was…"

"He needn't be," Hermione whispered, feeling the sword pulse across her back coolly, as if to soothe her.

"Most know that, Hermione. However, many people will not see it that way. Mr. Potter had been groomed to be a martyr, a method that caused many arguments between Albus and me.

Mr. Potter would also like you to know that if you should decide to contact him that he has settled in America, and would not be hard to find by Muggle means. He has contacted Gringotts to donate a great deal of money into restoring Hogwarts. It is not needed, of course, but Mr. Potter will always carry a great deal of guilt and shame no matter whether he deserves to or not."

Hermione turned to McGonagall to find her frowning, her face pointed toward the ground.

"What can I do?" Hermione asked in a pained whisper.

McGonagall met her eye and smiled sadly. "You have done plenty, Hermione. All that matters now is that you rest. You are a hero to so many of us, you and Mr. Weasley. No one is going to look down on you if you should want to disappear for a while."

The matron knew her well, Hermione figured.

Turning their faces to the summer sun again, Hermione wondered if disappearing for a while would be wise. She had had enough of isolation to last her a lifetime.

* * *

Charlie sighed, slightly annoyed with the Wizard Council's requests that he take a larger role in the 'new' manifestation of the Ministry. Sitting in a back parlour of the newly reopened Leaky Cauldron, his jade green eyes glanced to the small clock on the mantle above the fire. It was nearly dinner time, and nearly dark.

Sitting in the parlour with thirteen brightest, most powerful officials left from the Ministry of Magic, Charlie felt out of place and time. He was not used to sitting around listening to old bureaucrats argue.

"Mr. Weasley, have you anything to add?" Timothy Williamson asked, the highest ranking Auror to survive the 'Scourge.'

Charlie blinked, his eyes moving to all assembled. Some of the thirteen he knew well, others he did not, but all had been Ministry officials, all having been able to escape London before the Seal was enacted.

He thought they had been talking about liaising with the foreign aid to begin refurbishing the Ministry. Oddly, after its destruction, the Ministry seemed to literally rebuild itself, from the bottom up. Charlie did not want to think about what sort of Charm work went into something like the Ministry of Magic.

Charlie shook his head, sighing again.

The meeting was quickly concluded and the members of the temporary Wizard Council gone. Charlie remained behind for a few moments, listening to the stillness of the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah Longbottom had been one of the first to come back to London, a new fervor in her eyes to throw herself into her work to try to forget her husband.

Instead of taking the Floo back to Hogwarts, a convenience that had been reestablished automatically as the Seal dissipated, Charlie walked down Diagon Alley, now desolate and lifeless. There were a few shops that had lights inside as the sun began to set, but not George's shop. Charlie knew that George had returned to the Burrow with the rest of the family. Quality Quidditch had light, as did the Apothecary, even Gringotts had lights at the doors. Charlie had heard from his older brother, word coming that he, Fleur, and the children would be returning from Alexandria forthwith and back to Shell Cottage in Tinworth.

Charlie listened to the wind wail down the street and past him, and turning, he headed to the mouth of Knockturn Alley. In the deep shadow, there was no movement. The 'Scourge' had shaken even the darker aspects of Wizarding life.

The 'Scourge' was a terrible descriptor, Charlie decided early on, but he could not think of a better word for it all. It had not been a 'War,' as in the past. He stood alone; wearing the old, battered trench coat he had found what seemed like years ago while he and Hermione were trying to get to Hogwarts.

Charlie often wondered if they would have saved themselves so much grief if they had stayed somewhere and waited for everything to end. Of course, he knew that between himself and Hermione, they would have fought for their survival regardless.

He missed her, terribly. After thinking that she was dead on Dinas Emrys, Charlie remembered little of the events that followed. He did know that it had been something amazing, something worth an epic story, something truly magical. Charlie remembered Slughorn's words, and the memory kept him unsettled.

Harry Potter, for the last time, was used by Voldemort to contain a piece of a malignant soul. Harry apologized profusely, but it fell on deaf ears. Charlie knew Harry was sorry… Harry had lost children, lost several months of his life, and nearly lost his life trying to play the hero again. He could not fault Harry, in the end; they all had been used in some way or another.

When the truth began to come out during Council's private interviews with little Teddy Lupin, Charlie began to see the sequence of events, everything that led him to Dinas Emrys. He wondered how much Hermione knew.

Moving to the designated Apparition Point, Charlie stood for a moment, staring across the street to the wall strewn with new notices pasted up by the IMCFA or International Magical Cooperation for Foreign Aid, and smirked. If Percy were alive…

A shiver passed through him, and with a blink of an eye, he was gone from Diagon Alley.

* * *

"It is not going smoothly, but I suppose that is to be expected," Ron said softly, passing his older brother a bottle of Firewhiskey across the House table in the deserted Great Hall. "There is no way to compensate those whose homes have been destroyed, no way to be sure that everyone has the health care they need, the food, etc. I had to subdue Greg Goyle yesterday from stealing from the IMCFA food crates and selling them on what has become a booming 'black market.'"

"Goyle's father has been ill…" Charlie grumbled, pouring Firewhiskey into a Conjured glass, only a finger's worth. "Goyle Sr. has a rare condition, and the potions used to keep the condition in check have run out. It seems that some of our 'foreign friends' have been trying to make a profit of their own by raising prices on Potions ingredients."

Ron blinked, his scar stretching horribly. "And you know this…?"

"The Wizard Council made me an informal thirteenth member last week. Mrs. Goyle seems to have filed a complaint about the price of Re'em blood from our 'suppliers.'"

Charlie threw back the Firewhiskey and let the heat trickle down his throat. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he seriously considered packing up his few belonging and escape back to Wales and the Reserve.

"That is only one example of how we need someone strong enough as Ministry, with a solid Cabinet, to bring us back out of this stupor," Charlie muttered. "Elections have been slated for October, but we need something sooner than that. The Wizard Council has limited power…"

Ron's face darkened. "I'll see if I can get Williamson to start recalling Aurors. With a policing force, it might quiet some of the loudest voices."

Charlie nodded. "And Lucius Malfoy…"

Ron's gaze flicked sharply to Charlie. "What?"

Charlie sighed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands. "The man has international connections…in Romania. We might need to make a new 'black market' of our own."

Ron relaxed. "I'll speak to him."

Nodding, Charlie began to rise and Ron opened his mouth to say something more. Charlie's jade green eyes glimmered in the candlelight, turning to his brother again.

"She's out of the Hospital Wing now," Ron whispered. "She's taken the rooms in the back of the DADA office again."

Charlie inclined his head, and tried to smile, but was far too weary. Instead, he began walking. The halls were empty, most of the refugees gone, and already the castle's elves put everything back to rights. It was assumed that a new school year would start on schedule, though the number of students was a fraction of what they once were.

The DADA classroom was also empty, the desks back in place, and as Charlie passed through the open office door, it was to find Hermione sitting behind the desk, writing. She did not seem to notice him until she went to dip her quill in the inkwell, and at the sight of him, the quill dropped from her hand.

Almost immediately, Hermione was in his arms.

* * *

"I will be here as long as you need me," he whispered to her in the dark as they settled into bed. The casement windows were open, the fire out, and as it was too hot to sleep under all the blankets, a sheet covered them. After months of nearly freezing to death, the heat felt too warm and too foreign.

Hermione was already asleep.


	26. 26

**26**

 

 

 

They walked along the empty streets, hand in hand, hearing nothing more than the wind between the buildings. When they entered Trafalgar Square, they found it too was empty. Hermione almost expected to find the piles of dead, the smell of death lingered, but the square was empty. It was much as she found it the day she felt Charlie's magic, devoid of life, the stones under her boots damp, the sun shining down through a watery sky.

She could almost pretend that she and Charlie were indeed the last people in all of Britain. Together, they revisited all the places they had been, no longer afraid of the dark, and no longer truly alone. Walking toward the National Gallery, the wind whipped by their bodies, lifting their coattails, and rustling hair—the air still had a trace of the bland void of un-magic. Charlie's large hand tightened about hers and they stopped for a moment, staring at each other.

They had said so little during their 'tour,' but in Charlie's jade green eyes, Hermione could see they shared many of the same thoughts. The world had moved on, magic flowed under their feet freely and naturally, but all around them, the lack of life was distracting. Nothing would ever be the same. There was no magic in all the world that would set things back to the way they were. Millions of lives could not be restored, and the rest of the world could not remember what Britain was or had been—another void in the minds of billions.

Charlie released her hand and enveloped Hermione against his body, which was warm and alive, real and firm. Hermione felt safe, truly safe, for the first time in months and perhaps in all her life. The man who held her was more than a man, a companion whom fate had thrown into her path. He was hers, and she was his.

The bleakness, the hopeless was lessened in her heart whenever he held her. There was still a spark of light, something she could cling to and nurture. There was hope in Charlie Weasley's arms.

* * *

"Teddy was preyed upon, used, and nearly killed."

Hermione stared at Charlie as they sat on a rock just short of the shore of the Black Lake below Hagrid's hut. The day was warm, and there were large white clouds in the sky. When the wind blew, the stench of death was absent, and Hermione wished she let herself believe that the world had never been turned upside down.

Charlie had been telling her what he had learned via Slughorn and the Council's interviews with Teddy Lupin. It confirmed her suspicions and speculations, while also shocking her to feel just as lost as she had the day the Seal was enacted.

"It is going to take months, perhaps years before the boy will be able to cope with what he was forced to do."

Hermione leaned back, her palms supporting her body in the shade of the willows by the loch. Charlie was slouching, obviously still weary from his work, and traveling, all of which he told her about on the walk down to the loch.

They had returned to Hogwarts a day before, and the difference between the atmospheres at Hogwarts compared to the rest of the country was definite. Hermione wondered where they could go to remain close to the safety of the ancient magic that had protected the castle and the grounds.

"The Malfoys will see to him, I would like to think…"

"They will," Hermione said softly, her eyes moving to the lapping water of the shore. "Astoria will see to it, if Draco does not."

Charlie glanced out of the corner of his eye to her face, and Hermione smiled softly.

"They are not always vitriol cloaked in sarcasm…"

Charlie said nothing for a moment, and Hermione sat up and leaned into his shoulder. She realized that they had spoken more in a few short minutes than they had in the weeks following Dinas Emrys and their tour. It felt safe to speak at Hogwarts while they moved so long in silent reverence in the weeks after the Seal was broken.

"The music has stopped, the air is fresher, and the worst is over," Charlie murmured more to himself than to Hermione.

The worst is over… Hermione had to believe in Charlie's words.

"And what will you do now?"

Charlie sighed. "The Reserve needs tending. I've sent owls to a few people to see if than can spare some Keepers, temporarily. The MacFustys survived, and the reserve up north is fine. Dougal MacFusty has volunteered to come down; Cadwallader is coming back from Romania, and few blokes from Peru… Of all of them, I am the senior."

Hermione blinked. "You'll be going back to Wales?"

"Yeah."

Hermione licked her lips, realizing that she had no plans of her own. It was unlike her, she realized. So much had changed around her, inside her, and confusion swept through her.

Was Charlie not going to stay with her?

"I'm giving my place on the Council to Ron. Now that he is well, I think he can handle the responsibility this time…"

She straightened, slouching much like Charlie, and stared blankly across the water.

"Somehow, I hope, all of this mess will be sorted out."

Hermione nodded absently, too lost in her own thoughts to give a true reply.

What would she do now?

Before February 21st, she had been researching for her next book, and since February 21st, she had not thought about it at all. Hermione then wondered about her own parents. Would the fact that Britain ever existed be struck from their minds? She would have to see them, or at least, write them. Where was she going to live? With Harry and Ginny gone, she could not impose herself at Grimmauld Place, and the Burrow was surely too full and busy with renovations.

Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip, until a thumb pulled at her chin so her teeth released the plump flesh. Charlie stared down into her eyes and Hermione let her worries fade for the time being.

"We can still escape, Hermione. I was not joking about Lima."

Laughter escaped her lips, but there was a bitter edge about it. She doubted very much that if they left that they would be allowed back in Britain. Hermione had read the IMCFA pamphlets about 'Registration Papers.' So far, she had none although the process would take little time.

"And what would be do in Lima?" she asked, her hands moving to cup his handsome face.

"Oh, I don't know… Sightsee, eat lots of local cuisine, drink until we don't know our names, and make love for hours?"

Hermione smiled. "Far too decadent…"

"It would be a suiting counterpoint to this place," Charlie grumbled as his arms draped about her waist.

"True."

With a sigh, Hermione knew it would not be 'appropriate' to leave just yet, if at all. Her home, Britain, needed her help, Charlie's help. Hermione could not leave it all behind for the sake of making her forget her problems. She always faced things, no matter how unsavory.

Hermione kissed his lips, gently, and whispered: "Our struggle is not over yet, Charlie."

He said nothing for a moment, but blew out a deep breath, his forehead falling to her shoulder.

"I know… I know."

The darkness of the world was still all around them, but for the meantime, Hermione felt, they could finally relax.

* * *

Hermione read the names of the Minister's new cabinet, and smiled fondly. Marcus Flint, despite his reputation in school, was far more intelligent than most people gave him credit as the Advisor to the Minister for Magic; Hermione need not worry much about the new 'government.'

The first thing the new Minister did in January was open the newly renovated St. Mungo's, dedicating it to those who had died, Magic and Muggle. Ron Weasley was the youngest Minister for Magic in known history, and as his stoic face gazed up from the page at her, Hermione knew that Ron would do well.

Despite the strain and the fear, Ron had proved himself capable. Hermione knew that Ron was perhaps the best strategist the Wizarding world had ever known, and that with the proper support, he would do everything in his power to be fair and balanced when it came to the tougher decisions. With Marcus Flint as Advisor, and the rest of the cabinet of mostly younger people who had all proven themselves in cunning and worth, Hermione could breathe easier.

The second main article on the front page was on the state of Azkaban Prison. Oddly, it had fallen outside of the Seal, and the Dementors and guards, as well as prisoners, had fared well with the assistance of the French Ministry.

Hermione learned much later that Ireland had been included under the Seal, but had been untouched by the Inferi attacks. It seemed a strange oversight. The Inferi were deployed from the North, missing the Hebrides, and from the south from Cornwall. However, the Holokaustion was used by several Imperius'd wizards that returned to Ireland in February. Millions died in Ireland, and those very few, numbering approximately two thousand, who survived were suddenly very aware of the Wizarding world. There was a debate as to what to do about the Irish Muggles. Hermione knew it was something Ron would have to decide upon and act.

Folding the Prophet, she dropped it on the kitchen table next to the breakfast plates left behind. Slipping her new Vinewood wand from the sleeve of her jumper, she Levitated the plates to the sink, knowing she would have to begin setting some basic household Charms soon. However, doing dishes by hand was one of the few moments of near meditation she could get at times.

Leaving the kitchens and moving into the front portion of the house, Hermione eyed the front door, finding it slightly open, and snow beginning to accumulate on the mat on the inside of the door. With a sigh, she Charmed the door shut and began climbing the stairs into the upper story of the house and to the room she had renovated to be her 'study.'

Her typewriter was silent as she sat before it, gazing out the windows to a snowy Scottish morning. The garden's Charms were holding well, and she knew that the Charms that kept a bubble of heat about the plot would need to be renewed by the end of the day. Hermione supposed she could pick some beans to fix for dinner, maybe a few ripened tomatoes.

Sometimes, she thought, it was wonderful being a witch, and being able to grow food year round by means of Charms. Of course, Hermione already had plans to begin building a good sized hothouse to save herself some of the work of setting Charms, but it would have to wait until spring.

Stretching her arms out over her typewriter, she threaded her fingers and cracked her knuckles before reaching for a new sheaf of paper to feed into the machine.

The first words she typed out was the title of her work: " _quem_   _deus vult perdere, dementat prius_ or  _Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make insane."_

'Page 282, September 2, 2010, we found Klemper's body resting against the wall before a pile of ash and charred bone. He was much as we found him the first time, blackened by death, but in death, there was a peace to his features…'

Hermione's fingers moved over the keys, the hammers striking the paper, the little bell pealing at the end of the line. She swiped the return bar and began line after line. After two hundred and eighty two pages, Hermione had yet to delve into the theories rattling around in her head.

Pulling a type written page from the typewriter, Hermione added another. By noon, she had everything up until November documented, ending with Ron's new appointment. Hermione still had to document December 2010 through March 2011. However, she rose, stretching and craved a cup of something hot and chocolaty. Rationing was still on in Britain, but Hermione had managed to find several tins of cocoa in Tyndrum. As far as anyone knew, rationing would continue for the foreseeable future, at least until the summer.

Winter dragged on as the country's ecology was readjusting after the Seal, and spring would be late. Equinox was in a week, Hermione remembered, setting a kettle on the kitchen stove, lighting the fire with a match. There was still a good four inches of snow in the village of Tyndrum, and perhaps six around Strathfillian House.

Glancing out the kitchen window and to the garden again, she sighed. There were notices in the Prophet urging people to begin growing surplus food for their 'less fortunate countrymen.' One thing Hermione could say about Ron and his cabinet was that they knew how to spin positive propaganda. It reminded Hermione of the things her father told her when he was a boy, growing up in Woodcote, Oxfordshire during the War.

The kettle began to whistle, and Hermione was brought away from her thoughts. Her letter to her parents had been brief. It seemed that the Grangers, safe in Melbourne, knew nothing about what had happened in Britain, and  _did_  know that the island nation existed. They were concerned; however, that their phone calls were not going through, and that their letters to friends came back with a notice saying 'no such address.'

Hermione had taken two days to write a lengthy explanation. The reply had been short.

Come to Melbourne.

That had been before Christmas, and Hermione had made no arrangements. She tried to explain that she could not leave, not yet.

Carrying her hot chocolaty drink back up to her study, Hermione began typing again.

'Page 312, Y Ddraig Goch and Celebgrist…'

Celebgrist was sheathed and resting on the mantel above the small fireplace in the room, and not a day went past Hermione would not unsheathe it and hold the hilt in her hands.

* * *

The hatchling had been injured somehow, and Tom Cadwallader was just about to pick up the small Welsh Green when a screech deafened the three handlers.

At only a few months old, a hatchling weighed about one hundred and twenty pounds. Of course, a full-grown Green would weight several tons, but as the hatchling was injured and ill, Charlie supposed it weighed less than a hundred pounds. The hatchling had been left, to die, at the edge of a small lake on the Reserve, but as the screech grew nearer, Charlie knew better. The mother had been hunting with the other two hatchlings, hoping to bring back something for the third to eat.

"Drop it, Tom!" Diego Serras, another handler from Peru, shouted.

Tom's blond head rose as the mother came bounding over the hillock, her wings open wide in a defensive posture, her neck rearing back ready to spew dragon flame.

Charlie stood twenty yards away from Tom, and was about to bring the medical kit from his broom when the mother had either heard or seen them from a distance near her injured hatchling. He knew there was no time to run, and Tom, his good friend, either would have to Apparate or be burnt. Unfortunately, Tom was still holding the hatchling that was too ill even to cry out for its mother.

"Tom!" Diego shouted, already moving to Apparate.

Tom laid the hatchling down, gently, as if unperturbed as the ground shook by the force of the mother dragon's bounding reptilian legs on the ground. Tom was not going to make it…

Charlie ground his teeth, and Apparated.

The ground and rock tore under massive claws, and Charlie was suddenly face to face with a yellow-eyed monster, feeling the hellish heat of her exhale through flaring nostrils. His arms were wide, as if to bare the huge beast from moving closer, and slowly Charlie lowered his arms, staring into the left eye of the dragon and seeing his own reflection. He could see his long red hair, his jade green eyes, his black clothing, and the determined expression on his pale and bearded face.

No harm, only help, Calenamlug.

The Green shifted on her feet, her wings folding against her back. Her tail swished, but not to whip at Charlie or Tom who was gaping behind him. Slowly, the dragon took a step back and with a snort, sat on the ground as the other hatchlings waited in the distance, curious.

"Tom, get to healing the hatchling," Charlie said softly, moving to crouch on the ground, staring at the Green, evenly. "Now!"

Tom Cadwallader finally moved, Summoning the medical kit from where Charlie had dropped it and began examining the injured and ill hatchling. Charlie blinked as he and the Green regarded each other, sitting on the frosted ground.

* * *

She was drowning, rotten hands pulling her down deeper into the murky water. The light was going out around her as more hands tore at her skin, wrapping about her throat. She could not breathe, could not fight. The darkness was swallowing her whole and the pain in her back, in her gut, along her spine was poignant and piercing.

Hermione opened her mouth and screamed, waking.

He was there, though she had not known he had returned. His arms held her down into the bed in Strathfillian House, the same bed where they had made love for the first time. Hermione could not see for the darkness, the fire out, the night at its darkest hour with no moon. Her screams turned to sobs, the weight of his nude body pinning her arms and legs to the bed to keep her from lashing out.

Charlie smelled like earth, soothing her unsettled mind.

He whispered to her, but the words were wrong, not English, but something familiar, something ancient. The words wound about her, calming her body and mind.

When he kissed her mouth, she closed her eyes, feeling his long hair fall about her cheeks. Hermione knew Molly hated that Charlie's hair was as long as Bill's, but Hermione loved it, touched it often. It was rare that it was ever loose, even in sleep.

Charlie moved over her, lifting himself off her chest to allow her to take a normal breath, all the while sliding her nightgown up her body and eventually off. His body was hot against hers, dry where hers was sweaty from another nightmare. Hermione had many.

If it were not a dream of her being pulled down in the dark waters in the Horcrux cave, it was standing in Trafalgar Square waiting for a Charlie Weasley that never came. The reality of the Seal and the Inferi had been nightmare enough, but still Hermione dreamt of the terrible possibilities that could have been but were not.

Every time she awoke screaming, Charlie was there.

His hips slipped between her thighs and the head of his cock nudged at her folds. Hermione opened her eyes to the dark, letting her sight adjust. When her eyes caught the fraction of light from the window, she could just make out Charlie's face peering down at her.

He continued to whisper to her in husky words that stirred something deep inside her belly and had her opening her knees wider. Reaching up to touch his shoulder, Charlie devoured her mouth again.

The penetration was sharp and Hermione wailed into his mouth. Hands caressed, squeezed, and pinched, but still Charlie ate at her mouth. It was unlike him.

However, when he pulled his mouth away to gasp at the sensation of her body clenching around him, English came from his mouth, at last.

"I love you."

Hermione felt tears in her eyes, making Charlie's silhouetted face blur. With a nod, she bucked her hips against him, her knees brushing his ribs. Charlie dropped his head and let his chest press tightly against her breasts. A rhythm began, and the dregs of the nightmare were flushed away with the endorphins that rushed through her body with every thrust and twist of Charlie's hips.

She clung to him, never wanting to ever let him go.

* * *

Hermione awoke to find him gone again, already off to the Reserve. Her left hand reached out to his side of the bed, the sheets cold. On her finger, however, she found something new. A ring.

It was small and delicate, silver and glowing faintly in the morning light. She stared at the beautiful little ring for a long while. It fit perfectly, and Hermione wondered where Charlie had found it.

* * *

The sound of his laughter made her stop shucking corn and look up. There was always something about his voice that forced her eyes to him and forced smiles to curl her lips. Charlie had a wonderful laugh.

Charlie was rolling in the grass in the front garden, a small boy jumping onto his chest and rubbing a muddy face into his beard. Hermione began laughing as well as their son sat on Charlie's chest, squealing as Charlie tickled ribs and bare feet.

When the laughter faded, mirthful words passed between them, in a language that was one Hermione barely grasped, a language that had been born to the boy as much as his bright green eyes and curly dark auburn hair and freckles. Charlie grinned at the boy and took him in his arms, lifting him high above his prone body. The boy stretched out his arms as if to fly while Charlie made swishing noises through his teeth.

"Gaerchen, come wash up," Hermione called from her seat on the doorstep, dropping the last of the corn in a basket on her lap. "Dinner will be ready soon."

Gaerchen was a nickname Charlie gave their son not long after he was born. The boy's given name was Henry Arthur Weasley, but Hank was what his parents called him other than his strange nickname.

Henry 'Hank' ran past her into the house, and into the downstairs lavatory. Hermione began to turn and go inside as well, knowing that the lemon cake she made for dessert needed to come out of the oven soon. However, before she could enter the house, Charlie's hand gently caught her elbow. The basket of shucked corn and husks dropped to the walkway to the front door and Hermione found herself in her husband's arms, lips moving over hers.

Charlie's hands ran along her spine where her halter-top sundress was open to the warmth of the summer. Calloused fingertips rasped against her shoulder blades and along the backs of her arms. When their lips pulled apart to allow air to enter their lungs, jade green stared down into warm amber.

At forty-five, Charlie Weasley was perhaps more handsome than when he was a young man, age had seasoned his face, made his eyes depthless. He carried himself with a strength that Hermione had come to know in the years after their world had effectively ended. Of course, after the Seal was broken, Charlie was much more than the second Weasley son, the Dragon Keeper, the lover, and eventual husband of Hermione Granger. Charlie was a hero to so many people for so many different reasons.

There was a quality about Charlie Weasley that Hermione, in the years following the fall of the Seal, could not quite identify. In Charlie's eyes, Hermione saw knowledge, power, and anticipation. She knew that this quality had come after the Red Dragon had been unleashed once more over the skies of Britain. Hermione could only imagine what had really happened to Charlie by awakening Y Ddraig Goch, her memory of that night had grown fuzzy after a few years.

"Mummy, something's burning," Hank said from the kitchen door, and the spell that had Hermione gazing deep into her husband's eyes ended.

The cake was slightly browner than Hermione would have liked, but by the time the three family members sat down to eat, it did not matter. The months of nearly starving and eating out of tins had given Charlie and Hermione an appetite, and wasting food was akin to a mortal sin. Whatever was not eaten was saved, and what could not be saved, used as compost.

The world had turned many times since those dark months, Hermione knew, but still the lessons they were forced to learn were with them still, as were the fears. Looking to her son, Hermione smiled as Hank complained about one of his teeth being too loose to eat all of his corn. Charlie grinned, and reached for the cob, using a knife to cut the kernels away and passing his plate to Hank to rake off the golden morsels onto his own.

The world had turned, and still Hermione did not feel perfectly at ease. She supposed it was this unease that made Charlie fall into deep silences, looking to the stars, at times. Hermione did the same, not knowing why, but feeling anxious.

The world had turned, and Hermione felt as if the threat of Voldemort, the Inferi, the War, were ancient history. They both had caught a rare glimpse of something bigger than their world and the concerns therein. With that glimpse, the unease grew and the need to raise their son with the knowledge they held was imperative. It was not just the basic moralities they taught, and it was not the histories of the past, it was much more. It was the lesson that they had almost lost.

Listening to the earth and the magic that coursed under their feet, they taught their son how to feel the ancient music that underscored everything that was and would be.

* * *

Sitting on near the summit of Y Garn, he watched as the hatchlings, all three, romped over the slopes of the mountain while the mother flew overhead. Gliding on the wintry wind, the dragon was majestic, sunlight suffusing the thin greenish skin of the reptilian wings.

Far beyond Y Garn, he could see the shimmer of black hides of two Hebridean mates. The Reserve had survived, despite the force of destruction that had plagued the rest of Britain. In the face of evil, the dragons had not cowered.

So many things had changed, and Charlie knew that he had changed enough to make his friends and colleagues, even the woman he loved, notice. It was not a terrible change, but an unsettling change. He felt stronger somehow, younger, virile.

Charlie Weasley was still himself, still loved the outdoors, still loved to laugh, still loved to dream, but there was something…

It lurked deep inside, like a dormant piece of soul that was waking slowly into some realization. Charlie knew where it came from and when it had started, but he remembered nothing about how it had happened. He was compelled to watch and wait, knowing that at some point, perhaps not in his lifetime, something like the Seal, Voldemort, the Inferi, would happen again.

Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make insane… It was the title of Hermione's book, and Charlie knew the implications of the title. However, he was not insane, and the Gods, if they were real, had in no way destroyed him or the ones he loved. They would survive for another, another battle.

And when it came, Charlie would have to be ready, his children, his children's children, would have to be ready.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgements
> 
> Many thanks to my readers throughout the years. If you like this story, please subscribe to my LiveJournal, username ianthe_waiting
> 
> You can download the complete work as an author certified PDF from my LiveJournal as well!
> 
> Without the support of the HP and LJ community, this bit of fanfiction would not be possible.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Charlie/Hermione pairing, so please be gentle. This fic is very much inspired by my morbid obsession with ‘end of the world’ scenarios. There are few OCs in this fic, and I have tried to keep much in ‘canon’ as possible.


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